Sunrise
by Blackcross-Taylor
Summary: From the sheltered peace of Candlekeep to the city of Baldur's Gate, one girl's journey along the Sword Coast. Completed
1. Autumn 1366

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein.  
Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Sunrise  
**

**Autumn 1366**

Fritha sat on the roof of one of Candlekeep's many towers and watched the sun slowly sinking over the sea. The whole world seemed laid out before her, on her left, the great ocean of the Sword Coast, calm and shimmering like an endless expanse of blue glass. To her right, the plains of the Western Heartlands stretched off in to the distance, a patchwork of fields, grasslands and forests. It was times like this she hardly felt her nineteen years, as though some great knowledge, as old as the mountains, flowed within her just out of reach. It was late Eleint and the surrounding forests were already dressed in their warm golds and browns. She smiled, watching the trees sway gently, whispering in an ancient language of their own.

She had always loved autumn. Imoen joked it was because the autumnal colours provided her with a natural camouflage. Fritha grinned at the memory of it and, brushing a few strands of pale copper hair from her face, she lay back down on the warm tiles and continued to sun herself.

'Fritha? Friiiithaaa?'

The sound of someone calling her started Fritha from her dozing. She stretched lazily and gave a contented yawn before shifting down to the edge of the roof and peering over to confirm her suspicions. A girl with pretty green eyes and hair the colour of rosehips, smiled up at her from one of the tower's higher windows.  
'Hey, Imoen.'

Fritha reached her hand down to help her friend and soon they were both comfortably atop the roof, Fritha lying back down to continue her sunbathing. Imoen laughed at the sight of her friend laid there. Barefoot, her breeches and sleeves rolled up as high as they would go, shirt parted to expose her pale stomach and hair loose; Fritha was a picture of contentment.

'I don't know why you bother with that,' Imoen said, smiling, 'it's not as though you ever tan.'  
'The sun feels nice on my skin,' Fritha replied lazily, not even opening her eyes.  
'Don't you get bored? How long have you been up here?'  
'Hmm… since just after lunch.'  
'Since _noon_!' Imoen cried incredulously, 'I've been doing chores for Puffguts _all day_!'  
Fritha snorted at Imoen's nickname for the corpulent old innkeeper, turning on to her side to watch her friend rant.

'How d'you finish yours so quickly?'  
'I didn't,' replied Fritha, amused by her friend's reaction.  
'But didn't Gorion say you had to clean out the archives in one of the basements? He's wanted it done since first-day.'  
Fritha remained unconcerned. Her foster father was always providing her with chores to do, if she'd finished this one he'd just have found something else to occupy her.

'So? It's a waste of all this sunshine; I can do it tonight. Besides, what's the rush? No ones been in those archives for years,' she answered, giving her friend a grin before lying back down.  
'Yeah, well, I thought Puffguts Winthrope was going to keep me at the inn forever,' Imoen continued, tying back her short hair in an effort to keep it out of her face on the blustery rooftop, 'he even made me late for Steen's errands.'

Fritha smiled, wondering if anyone in Candlekeep still believed that Imoen was just "running errands" for one of it's most infamous residents. A notorious thief and guild master in his day, Steen Quickhand had obviously believed in the saying, "You never meet an old thief" and retired gracefully to the seclusion of Candlekeep. However, he seemed to have taken a shine to Imoen and since last year they had been meeting, and if Imoen's 'acquisitions' from the inn were anything to go by he was a very good teacher.

'You given any more thought to your training?' Imoen continued, obviously trying to keep the emphasis off '_your_'.  
_Training_ thought Fritha with a scowl. At the beginning of the month Gorion, had told her, since she was now of age, she would soon have to decide what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.  
'Ugh, training,' Fritha grumbled, utterly unenthused with the idea, 'what was it Gorion said? I have to decide what field I want to study in to become...'  
'a _useful_ member of society,' they chorused, Imoen giggling.

Fritha sighed; the deadline was drawing closer and she was struck with a pang of jealously at how unrestricted Imoen's life was allowed to be. No lessons for her! Well, not officially anyway…

'Are you still undecided?' Imoen questioned, bringing Fritha's mind back to the present, 'I'd probably find it difficult too, if _I _could be anything I wanted,' she teased, playfully poking her friend in the ribs. It was true, Fritha was nimble and strong with a keen mind; she had her pick of careers.  
'Yeah, I suppose. Anything but a cleric, that is.' Fritha replied with a laugh that Imoen shared. It was a well-reported fact that Fritha had very little respect for anyone in authority and that extended to gods as well.  
'Well, I doubt I could even if I wanted too,' Fritha continued, smirking, 'I can't understand it but I sometimes get the impression that Father Whelan doesn't like me.'  
An understatement that brought yet more laughter from the girls.

It had been a hot summer's day, more than ten years ago, when the Order of the Radiant Heart had arrived in Candlekeep. Imoen had spent the morning 'spying' on the knights gathered in the gardens outside the main keep, as she helped Winthrope serve drinks, and had reported back to Fritha that afternoon. Apparently they had brought an evil book to be stored there. Fritha had wondered how a _book_ could be evil and if so, why not just destroy it?

Their chores completed, the girls decided to sit outside and see if they could learn anything more. No one paid any heed to the two children as they sat on the lawns, watching the knights tend to their kit, laughing and drinking. One of the older knights was moving round the few wounded. He came to a knight with a bandaged arm who was settled nearer the girls and began to perform a ritual on him.

'What's he doing?' asked Imoen  
'He's a cleric of Helm,' replied Fritha, recognising the eye-shaped symbol being held over the knight, 'he must be healing him.'  
'Can you imagine being a priest of Helm?' Imoen giggled, 'it must be so boring. Blah blah duty, blah blah honour.'  
Fritha started to giggle too and, unaware of the approaching danger, joined in. Her voice deep and serious, her face and hands turned skywards, she began.

'Oh Helm, mighty God of Boredom, let your all-seeing eye help me seek out and prevent the fun of others.'  
Laughter held the girls, neither noticing the tall figure of Father Whelan, Candlekeep's resident Helmite, looming behind them.  
'Be a goody-goody follower of Helm!' she continued with enthusiasm, 'I'd rather be sacrificed to Lolth the Spider Queen!'  
Giggling erupted again but it didn't last long.  
'YOU!'  
Both girls jumped, whirling round to find Whelan glowering down at them, enraged.

'Blasphemous child! Heathen!' he shrieked, 'Gorion shall know of this outrage!'  
And before Fritha had chance to react, she'd been dragged to her feet and was being marched towards the keep by the furious priest, leaving Imoen behind on the grass, bent double with laughter.

Fritha smiled at the memory of it. Gorion hadn't been that bothered and as for Whelan, well that day had been the start of a relationship that provided _her_ with many opportunities for tormenting, and _him_, just as many for ranting, so she concluded he was as happy they'd met as she was.

'So you've still no ideas yet?' Imoen questioned again, and Fritha suspected her stalling was wearing thin.  
'Ah…no, not really…' she answered, avoiding her friend's eyes.  
In truth, Fritha had decided long ago what she wanted to do with the rest of her life and was pretty sure that Gorion would _not _approve.

She wanted to become a bard.  
Not that she had any inclination towards singing or acting. In fact, she'd never even met a bard. However, she'd done a little research on the subject and using this knowledge drawn some logical conclusions on what it would entail.  
Bards travelled. Bards performed songs or plays. Bards performed for people and, since most towns didn't have a theatre, this would take place in pubs and inns. Ergo, being a bard would involve a lot of hanging around in bars, picking the occasional pocket to cover the bar tab.  
A cheap way to see the world and an excellent way to live your life.

Imoen sighed.  
'Well, I don't know why-'  
A familiar shout cut Imoen off.  
'Fritha? FRITHA?'  
'Uh-oh…'  
'Ooo, sounds like someone's going to catch it now,' Imoen announced gleefully, as she watched Fritha scramble to the edge of the rooftop, trying to simultaneously tuck her shirt in and pull her boots on. After a few moments of frantic struggling, she finally sorted herself out, pinning her hair back and, with practised ease, dropped of the roof.  
'See you!'

xxx

Gorion's office was just as it has always been. Lighter and more airy than the other rooms in Candlekeep, Fritha had always suspected that Gorion, once an adventurer, gave up his life in the outdoors for one of seclusion and tomes with rather more reluctance than the other sages. The wall opposite the door housed two large windows, and was the only one not lined in books, but Fritha had been in the room many times before and couldn't pretend to be fascinated by the view for too long before Gorion realised she was just trying to avoid his eye.

'Fritha.'  
Fritha turned round, and, still keeping her head bowed, slumped into the chair in front of Gorion's desk to await her lecture.  
'How many times are we to have this conversation before you actually take _any_ notice?'  
Fritha said nothing, there was no reply to make, but this only seemed to incense him further. His eyes were dark beneath his woolly eyebrows, his lined face pale with anger.

'I've wanted those archives cleaned since the last ten-day, and if you had done them when you were supposed to then, the delegation from the Order of the Black Key would have the maps they need, the First Reader would not be livid at the prospect of Candlekeep's reputation being tainted and I would not be the laughing stock of the entire library for not being able to control my own ward!'  
Fritha opened her mouth to defend herself but Gorion seemed to be in full swing now.

'You used to be able to get away with such reckless behaviour when you were younger but as the years have passed I see no change in your attitude. You are not a child anymore; you _must_ act more responsibly but if anything you seem to be regressing! You have still to make a decision concer-'  
A sharp rap at the door cut Gorion off mid-flow and a moment later a robed man glanced round tentatively.

'A-are you busy, Gorion?'  
Gorion seemed torn for a moment, unwilling to calm down so soon, but finally gave a long sigh, sinking into his chair as he did so, as though physically deflating as his anger left him.  
'No, no, do come in. Fritha, please give us a moment.'

Fritha rose from her chair and wandered over to the furthest window. She leant her face against the cool glass, staring out at the sky, a blaze of orange and pink as the sun set. She never meant to anger Gorion, if she'd known _why_ he'd wanted the archives cleared, instead of thinking it was just another random task that was designed to "keep her out of trouble", she would have done it straight away, but Gorion never seemed to tell her anything.  
He expected her to be more responsible but how could she when no one trusted her? He wouldn't even tell her about her parents!

When she'd been younger she could do no wrong. She had liked her studies, would help out in the temples, fetch and carry for the sages. But now… She still loved Gorion but they seemed to have grown apart, he just didn't understand who she was anymore.  
A polite cough jerked her from her thoughts. The other monk had left and Gorion was stood behind his desk watching her with a mixture of weariness and, strangely, sorrow. Fritha shrugged inwardly. She may as well tell him now and get it all over and done with.

'I want to be a bard.'

She winced, waiting for the tirade to begin but nothing came. She risked a glance at Gorion, checking that he wasn't so angry that words had finally failed him, but he was stood, looking as calm as ever and -was that _amused_?  
Gorion sank slowly back into his chair.  
'A bard?'

Fritha nodded nervously, her mind racing. She'd been through quite a few possible scenarios for telling Gorion about her plans but none of them had involved 'Calm Gorion' and Fritha found herself at a complete loss.  
'A bard,' confirmed Gorion with a smile, 'may I inquire as to why?'  
Right, this was the part where she had to really sell it.

'Well, because…er…they play music.'  
'I never knew you were interested in music.'  
'Really?' she answered, trying to sound surprised.  
'Indeed… Any other reasons?' Gorion continued, his beard twitching.  
'Well, I'd like to study magic', here she glanced at Gorion who confirmed this with a nod, 'and I've always been interested in the lore of Faerûn and…er…stuff.'

Gorion smiled widely and Fritha was put in mind of one of the cats when it had cornered a particularly fat mouse.  
'Well, that all seems fine.'  
'It _does_?'  
'Yes. Barding is a honourable profession and one that I believe will utilise your many, ah… 'talents'. Meet me here tomorrow morning and we can discuss it further.

xxx

Fritha sat before Gorion's desk, dismay rising within her as Gorion read from his parchment.  
This was not happening.

'You'll have weapons training with Hull and the other guards every morning, with your afternoon studies being divided between the arts of magic with Archmage Jesseth, and general reading in the library. Once every tenday,' here he paused to make note of something on the parchment, 'probably third-days, you will join Imoen in chores for Master Steen.'  
Gorion returned the parchment to the desk, taking a moment to observe Fritha's look of unreserved despair before continuing, trying all the while to hide his amusement.

'Now, I've made some inquires and the only person here with any musical inclination is Beth-'  
'The _cook_?' Fritha cried incredulously, finally finding her voice.  
'Yes. She says she will supervise your efforts in singing though she has no experience in the actual playing of music so you will have to study your chosen instrument without help, though I believe there are some volumes in the archives you may find useful.'  
Gorion smiled.

'Perhaps you can dig them out while you're cleaning up down there,' he suggested, a hint of reproach creeping in to his voice.  
Gorion made a final cursory glance over the parchment and nodded to himself.  
'I believe that's everything.'

Fritha felt physically shaken. She couldn't have been more horrified by the way things had turned out than if, halfway through the meeting, Whelan had turned up and convinced Gorion to send her to 'Helm's Boot Camp for Little Heathens' in the icy wastes of Vaasa.  
'There's so much…_work_,' she cried with disbelief, hoping that she would awake any second to find it was had all been some terrible dream.  
'Yes, indeed,' Gorion agreed, nodding enthusiastically, 'but don't worry, I think we will mange to fit it all in.'  
He rose slowly, both him and the chair creaking slightly as he did so before crossing the room to open the door for her.

'But I thought that bards just sort of learnt things as they went along, with, you know, minimum training,' Fritha continued, ignoring Gorion's subtle indication that she was to leave and clinging desperately to the chance that this still could be some horrible mistake.  
'Goodness, child,' Gorion chuckled whilst ushering her through the door, 'whatever gave you that impression? Now, off you go and finish your errands.'  
Fritha whirled round but had no chance to reply before the door was shut smartly in her face. She stood a moment, glaring at the dark wood before slinking dejectedly off down the corridor.

xxx

Fritha was stood on a stool to reach the higher shelves, sorting through the old tomes and rolls of parchment that had found their way down into the archives over the years. On the floor, piles were growing; old volumes that needed re-binding, books and scrolls for shelving and a pile of miscellaneous items, so worn with age that Fritha could no longer tell where they belonged. Every now and then, she would take down a tome only to have to duck, covering her head with her arms as half a dozen or so books and scrolls were dislodged and cascaded over her. Or grab a book only to have all the pages drop smartly out the cover and if anyone had stumbled onto the scene they would not have been blamed for thinking that Fritha was trying to demolish the place rather than actually_ cleaning_ the archives.

'Bloody Gorion!' Fritha coughed, as she pulled down one of the older scrolls only for it to unroll and engulf her in a cloud of dust, 'this is his way of punishing me! Lessons every day _and_ some of them with sodding Jesseth! He _hates_ me!'  
Fritha threw the scroll on to the pile by the door before turning back to clear the rest of the shelf, punctuating each word by savagely hurling a book to the floor.  
'Stupid - bloody - barding!'

'Why'd you choose it then?'  
Fritha jumped so high she almost toppled off her stool.  
'By Lolth, Imoen!' she gasped, clutching her chest and glowering at her friend, 'how long have you been there?'  
Imoen smiled.  
'Long enough to know that the rumours going round the Library are true and that the sages aren't the only ones not happy about the fact you're going to become a bard. So why _did_ you choose it? You never mentioned anything about this before.'

Fritha sighed, stepping down from her stool and sinking on to it while Imoen mirrored her movements, perching on a pile of books opposite her.  
'Because I thought it would be a complete skive and lead to a career in wassailing! My life was going to be one long pub-crawl around Faerûn, that's why!'  
Fritha shook her head and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.  
'And now everything's gone horribly wrong and -and I don't know what to do!' She finished with a wail before dissolving into indelicate sobs.

'Oh, Fritha,' Imoen said with a sympathetic smile, putting a comforting arm round her friend, 'don't worry, I know it seems like a lot to take on but I'm sure Gorion wouldn't make you do anything that made you completely miserable.'  
Fritha's only reply to this seemed to be an incredulous snort but she could have been mistaken, it was hard to tell through all the sobbing.  
'There now, and even though you've got lots of work planned, there's no reason you can't waste all that training lazing around in taverns once you leave.'  
This seemed to bring Fritha round slightly.

'You're right,' she finally answered, blinking away her tears and wiping her nose on her sleeve 'some things are worth working for. Hey,' she continued, suddenly brightening, 'let's go and try to break in to Winthrop's cellar again.'  
'Okay, but what about all this?' Imoen said, gesturing to the bibliographic carnage all around them.  
'Ah, I'll finish it tomorrow.'


	2. Secrets

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein.  
Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Secrets**

Imoen shivered slightly as she hurried down the corridor, her arms full of books. It was early Mirtul, but in the dark stone halls of the library it may as well have been Alturiak for all the good it did. The only time the sun seemed to penetrate was around midsummer, turning the keep into a great stone oven and making the sages even tetchier that usual, if that was possible.

She rounded a corner a little too quickly and the top two books slid from her arms and toppled to the floor. Imoen cursed impatiently under her breath, bending down to retrieve them. It was bad enough that she had to do chores for Puffguts and Steen, without Whelan collaring her outside the temple and sending her off on his errands. Suddenly she heard footsteps behind her and glanced back to see a messenger moving along the corridor in even more of a rush than she was. He looked tired and road-worn, as though he'd been travelling for days, and paid no heed to the scruffy young girl gathering her books as he passed. Imoen was tempted to shout something after him but stopped herself just in time.

'Surely' she considered slyly, 'it would be far more productive to follow him…'  
It would allow her to practise some of the new skills she'd been working on, plus she might find out some gossip to impress Fritha with later. Imoen grinned and, stacking her books neatly next to the wall, set off.

It became clear that the messenger was heading for the residential part of the keep and so following him was not as taxing as she'd hoped. The trip was well worth it though, once she discovered exactly who he was looking for. He finally halted outside an office on the fourth floor hallway and Imoen, who had just rounded the corner, slipped back behind it, her eyes wide.  
It was Gorion's.

She heard the old sage open the door and after a quiet exchange, the messenger came back round the corner, ignoring her once again and disappeared in to the stairwell. Imoen waited a moment before creeping round and moving silently towards Gorion's door. She had half a mind to knock and tell him Whelan needed him but it was suddenly unnecessary as, at that moment, the door flew open and Gorion stalked out. Instantly, she flattened herself against the wall, half concealed by the shadow of one of the large cabinets that lined the corridor. If he'd looked, he couldn't have missed her, but Gorion seemed preoccupied and marched past her without a second glance. Imoen waited until the sound of his footsteps had faded and slipped silently into his office.

A letter lay half open on his desk and Imoen, grabbed it, her eyes flying over the words.

"What has long been feared will soon come to pass… We have done what we can for those in thy care… The other side will move very soon… I urge you to leave Candlekeep…"

Then she heard it.

'I feel thankful that I found you so soon, I was sure you would be down in the temple at this time of day.'  
'Normally I would have been, but I sent that Imoen girl on an errand for me an age ago and she has still not returned. I first suspected she was with Fritha, but no, so I came to find her myself.'

Gorion and Whelan. There was no mistaking it, and of all the people it could have been!

Imoen glanced about for escape routes and her eyes were instantly drawn to the two large windows. Gorion's office was one of the few places where the windows actually opened and, if Fritha's accounts were accurate, there was a convenient drainpipe just below them.

In a choice between the risk of bodily harm and certain discovery by those two, Imoen knew what she'd do. She rushed to a window, quietly pushed it open and clambered on to the sill. Dropping lightly on to the drainpipe, she inched her way along it to the vestibule roof.  
Imoen grinned as she heard Gorion's familiar voice above her.  
'I am sure I closed this window.'

xxx

A moment or so later and Imoen was in the grounds and heading towards the barracks. Although the letter had been vague, she couldn't suppress the unease that seemed to have crept in to her stomach since she read it. Something was wrong and she had a feeling Fritha would be leaving any day now. She had to talk to her, even if she didn't tell her about the letter, just to see her would be enough.

Imoen spotted her immediately. A fair-skinned, slight girl who stood at least half a foot shorter than the surrounding guards. If this wasn't enough to make her stand out, her hair looked even wilder than usual today. A mad aura of frizzy curls that hung to her waist and Imoen suspected she'd fallen asleep with it wet again. The guards had all just been put in to pairs and had begun sparring as Imoen drew closer. She recognised Fritha's partner as Arden, one of the arrogant younger guards who had been hired last Flamerule. The girl knew she should wait until they finished, but the sight of her friend made Imoen's spirits lift slightly and before she could contain herself she'd shouted 'Oi, Fritha.'

Fritha, naturally, glanced around and in being distracted her opponent saw his advantage. Or so he thought.  
_CRACK  
_Fritha parried the blow with the dagger in her off-hand without even seeing it whilst bringing her wooden sword up in a panicked move and whacking him round the head.  
'Sorry!' she cried, wincing as the man crumpled, clutching his head and swearing vehemently

Suddenly they were surrounded by people and the lack of fuss they seemed to be making showed Imoen that this situation was not an entirely unfamiliar one. Imoen heard Fritha's faint apologies and suppressed a grin as the guard master turned to scowl at her. With Fritha's partner being led back to the barracks it didn't seem to take much cajoling from her friend to convince the master to let her finish early. After a few moments discussion, he threw his hands up in exasperation and stalked off after Arden.  
Fritha threw her a grin before putting her training sword back in the rack and jogging over to meet her.

xxx

The weather was not really suitable for the rooftops that day. It had been warm on the grounds, but above the shelter of the walls a stiff breeze was blowing. Still, she had insisted. There was something traditional about it; something that was just her and Fritha's, making it even more important considering the circumstances. Imoen shook herself, forcing away her unease and returning her attention to Fritha who was leaning forward, straining to see the barracks.

'Stop it, will you,' said Imoen, wincing. She was all right once she was sat on the roof but she didn't have Fritha's head for heights; the girl seemed fearless.  
'I want to see if he's back yet, I did hit him pretty hard,' she explained, squinting as the sun burst forth from behind a cloud.  
'Oh, who cares? He's a git. He tried to hit you when your back was turned,' -_and nearly caught me in the barracks the other day_, she added silently.  
'I'm sure he didn't mean to…' said Fritha slowly, but she did finally sit back level with Imoen. 'So, what did you bring me up here for?'  
Imoen hesitated a moment, wondering whether she should mention the letter. She shrugged.

'Just to talk, I suppose. It's been ages since you had any free time.'  
'Tell me about it,' she muttered darkly.  
Imoen nodded sympathetically. It was only just over a year ago that she'd been sat in the archives, telling Fritha not to worry about her workload. At the time she'd been sure that Gorion was just exaggerating in order to scare her, but, as it turned out, he'd been deadly serious and, since then, the only times she ever saw her friend were brief glimpses of her in the libraries, or snatched conversations at mealtimes. It was almost as if Gorion was trying to prepare her for something. Imoen felt a familiar apprehension fill her again and she cursed herself for not seeing it sooner. It was unlike Gorion to push anyone so; Fritha must be in real danger.

'Well,' the girl continued with a sigh, 'thanks to you, I seem to have some spare time now. Is there anything you want to talk about? You seem a bit distracted.'  
'Nah, it's just nice to spend time together,' Imoen smiled. Fritha smiled too and they chattered for a while about mundane things, Imoen talking of her times with Steen and Fritha telling her about Archmage Jesseth, who, according to her, was the "meanest, most cantankerous, shrivelled old lizard ever to grace the Keep".

But the talk did not last long. Imoen was not so good an actress as to prevent her best friend from realising something was wrong and Fritha, for her part, seemed slightly hurt that she was keeping something from her. Imoen watched as her friend sat, silently staring out to sea, and was struck by how pretty she had grown in the last year or so. Fritha had always been fair with her retroussé nose and easy smile, but now her features had matured into something far more striking.

The pale skin and wild hair was still the same, but her eyes seemed to have darkened over the years, to a brown that was almost black in its density. Imoen suspected that if she didn't know Fritha like she did, she would find those dark almond eyes rather unnerving. Her face too, had finally lost some of the roundness of its youth. Imoen watched as the breeze threw back her hair, revealing the smooth lines of her jaw and cheek sweeping up into slightly pointed ears. But this image of regal beauty was soon shattered when Fritha turned back to her with a familiar toothy grin.

'Hey, I just thought. The other day, Phlydia told me that the kittens are finally up and about. Want to go and see?'  
Imoen smiled, feeling suddenly warm in spite of the breeze.  
'Sure.'

xxx

Gorion stared about his office, warm and homely in the firelight. Everything was moving so quickly; he wondered whether he'd be making things worse by trying to outmanoeuvre them. Maybe that was their plan, to force his hand, push him to make hasty decisions, kill her that way?  
It was possible this whole thing would just blow over; the true prophecy was not predicted to begin until years from now. Gorion sighed, looking over the letter for what felt like the hundredth time.

"The timing of these things is difficult to predict"

An understatement that made him feel angry at its vagueness. It wasn't just the prophecy; her life was at stake. Why was no one considering that? He'd been warned several times he was getting too close to the girl but it was so difficult not to, she was so-  
The click of the door broke him from his thoughts and he looked up to find Fritha before his desk, smiling.

'Hello Gorion, Beth sent me up with supper, she says you missed it.'  
It took a second for him to realise she was proffering a tray to him.  
'What? Oh, yes, my thanks.'  
Fritha just nodded, setting the tray down before him and throwing herself into a chair in front of the desk.

'Oh, I've had the best day. Imoen and I went to see Phlydia's new kittens. They are _so _sweet. There was this tiny ginger one that Imoen said looked like me, and Phlydia laughed her head off, you know what she's like…'  
His food forgotten, Gorion watched her sat there, chattering happily about her day, a sense of anger welling up within him.  
She was so young, so alive. If only he'd known of this threat sooner. And even then, was it a true threat? It could just be circumstantial, nothing to do with the prophecy. Was he to risk her life just on the off chance? But they didn't care; it was only about the prophecy for them. _She_ was nothing.

'But then she said that once they're weaned I can have one an-'  
Gorion finally felt his composure snap.  
'Fritha!'  
Fritha turned to him, open mouthed and glowering at this unfair assault.  
'What?'  
'We must leave.'  
Her scowl turned to confusion.

'Leave? Leave where? …Not Candlekeep?' A sudden realisation seemed to dawn on her and she continued quickly, 'look, I swear, it was an accident today, I never meant to hit-'  
'Fritha, calm yourself. This has nothing to do with your actions here.' Gorion sighed, he should really do it now, but…  
'Look, I have not the time to explain it right now. Just go and pack a bag, only essentials mind, we will be travelling by foot. Be ready by noon tomorrow.'

Fritha opened her mouth, perhaps to question further or complain but after a moment she shut it again without a sound and silently walked out. She didn't need to say anything; the look of hurt on her face as she left spoke volumes for Gorion. He glanced down to the letter on his desk before viciously screwing it up and throwing it into the grate.

xxx

Fritha awoke slowly, pushing a froth of hair from her face and looking up through her window. By the position of the sun, she judged it was an hour or so before noon. She glanced to the small table beside her bed where a note had been place, her name written in Gorion's scrolling script on the front.

She read it already knowing what it would say. Pack stuff, get equipment, visit Phlydia -that was unexpected, and, of course, meet him outside the keep at midday. She threw down the letter and spent a few minutes rooting under her bed for her pack. She stared at it a moment, unwilling to deal with what it represented and instead crossed to the far corner of her room for her lute. She sat on her bed, picking a thin tune from it and trying to imagine what it would be like to sleep anywhere but that room, to be anywhere else but Candlekeep. Thoughts like this weren't helping though and eventually she lay the instrument down beside her, sighed heavily and began the sad task of packing up her things.

It was a bright clear morning outside and Fritha felt out of place with her feelings of apprehension. She left the walled gardens of the keep by the back gateway, walking past the inn and up to Phlydia's door. She went to knock but one strike and it swung open, so she settled with putting her head round and calling, 'Phlydia?'

There was no sound but the faint mewling of a kitten somewhere in the house and a rustle from a heap of parchment and books under which she was pretty sure there was a desk. Fritha glanced around the rest of the room taking in the worn chairs covered in mismatched cushions and throws, the shelves spilling over with curious jars and instruments and the pictures of far-off lands that covered the walls. Phlydia's house was so contrary to the regimented neatness that prevailed in the rest of the Keep, that Fritha wondered how she had ever managed to gain a permanent residence there and, indeed, why she had wanted too. She had loved to visit Phlydia's house when she was younger, everything about it seemed so exotic and full of mystery; she and Imoen used to fight over errands there.

'Phlyyyydia?' she shouted again, suddenly finding the past painful to think about. She heard the sound of movement above her and seconds later Phlydia was clattering down the narrow stairs, beaming.  
'Ah, hello Fritha, were you waiting long? I'd dozed off.'

Fritha smiled back at her shaking her head. Phlydia was older than Beth; in fact, Fritha couldn't seem to remember her ever looking young. Her wiry grey hair was escaping from an oversized bun as she smoothed the skirts of her dark plum dress, a beaded jade green shawl thrown haphazardly over her shoulders. The woman finished and straightened, turning her gaze back to Fritha in silence.  
'Gorion said you wanted to see me?' Fritha prompted, once she realised that Phlydia had no idea why she was there.  
'Ah, yes, so I did. Come in, come in.'

Fritha walked in to the house, picking her way through the clutter, and following Phlydia in to the back room, a couple a cats looking up as she entered, observing her ungainly progress through the disorder almost smugly. The room turned out to be storeroom of sorts; chests were piled untidily against the walls leaving just enough room in the centre for her and Phlydia to stand.

'Now, where did I put them,' the old woman mused to herself, glancing about at the trunks.  
'Ah, here we are, move Falex,' she said, finally finding the right chest and giving the sleeping cat on top of it a gentle shove. Falex opened one eye and glared insolently at them. When it confirmed that this alone would not dissuade them, the cat rose slowly, as though to prove it was not going to be rushed before leaping gracefully to the floor and stalking out, its tail held high.  
Fritha watched it go, turning back to Phlydia to find the chest opened, drawing in a sharp gasp as she stared down at some of the most beautifully crafted arms she had ever seen.

'Indeed,' smiled Phlydia, pulling out a pair of light kidskin boots and dumping them into her arms, 'here, we'll have these and, ah, this will come in useful and-'  
The pile in Fritha's arms was growing and suddenly something dawned on her.  
'Is, is all this for me?'  
'Of course, child,' Phlydia laughed, tossing a blue enamelled long sword on to the pile, 'Objects such as these do not deserve to be hidden away in chests. They must be used in journeys, on adventures. Allowed to make names for themselves.'  
The old woman shook her head, her eyes suddenly misty.

'Ah, the stories I could tell you, child -but I suppose it's too late for that now,' she added with a sigh.  
'Still, what next? Ah, yes, Clothes.'  
'What's wrong with my clothes?' asked Fritha defensively; she had always felt she was quite well turned out.  
Phlydia chucked at her vanity  
'Nothing when you're here in Candlekeep, but what about when you're out there in the wilds of Faerûn?' Her eyes had misted over again and Fritha wondered exactly where she had travelled in her life before Candlekeep. 'What will you do when the weather turns and the rain beats down for days on end?'  
Fritha shrugged.  
'Get wet?'  
'No, no, no,' Phlydia continued as though she hadn't heard her, 'you must have suitable attire. Now you've got the boots, so all we need now is… Ah, I've just the thing.'

It was but minutes later when Fritha was stood again, in amongst the clutter of the main room dressed "suitably". The trousers Phlydia had provided, though a little on the large side, were all right and the boots fitted fine. The tunic, however, swamped her. It hung from her shoulders, the neck hole much too wide for her narrow frame, to past her knees, the sleeves so long they hid her hands. And though it was a more than adequate amount of fabric Fritha felt sorely underdressed. The rest of her was all right, but due to the neckline, she felt she was showing a scandalous amount of shoulder; even one of her camisole straps could be seen!  
Phlydia seemed unconcerned though.

'There, perfect,' she beamed, 'now to find that cloak.'  
Phlydia bustled off as Fritha lifted her hand, staring at the good few inches of hanging fabric that showed where her fingers ended.  
'Phlydia…' she began slowly  
'Yes, dear,' came a voice muffled by rummaging.  
'You don't think it's a bit on the big side, do you?'  
Phlydia appeared in the doorway, smiling genially  
'Nonsense, child, you'll grow into it.

For the rest of their time together, Fritha tried to explain that in being nearly twenty years old, she was pretty much all grown out, but Phlydia was having none of it and, with a hug and a smile, sent her on her way. Apart from being too big for her, the clothes Phlydia had provided her with were of excellent quality. Shirts and trousers of black linen as well as a couple of tunics, in various shades of blue and trimmed with patterned ribbon or embroidery. Finally, and after a great deal of rummaging, Phlydia had found her two cloaks, one of a light waxy material to keep the rain off and the other, which turned out to be her favourite of all the things she received that day, a heavy velvet cloak in dusky blue, lined with grey squirrel's fur.  
Fritha's only regret was that it was spring and so couldn't put it on straight away.

But that wasn't the real dilemma facing her at the time. She didn't care what Phlydia said, she was more likely to grow another head than grow big enough to fill those tunics. The neckline didn't really bother her any more. She had mentioned her concerns to Phlydia but she had just snorted and said something about it being a good job she was leaving, if her life in Candlekeep had been so sheltered she was worrying about that! And the size of the body was kept in check once she strapped on her sword belt, the weight of the new long sword hanging awkwardly at her hip.

The sleeves, however, _were_ a problem so once outside, she slipped round the back of one of the storehouses and set to work. Minutes later she appeared again with each of her sleeves rolled back several times and secured with various bits of ribbon and banding that she'd originally packed for her hair.  
She glanced up at the sun. It was nearly noon and though the highsun signal had not yet rung, it could not be far off. Fritha started the walk back to the keep when a shout behind her made her turn. Imoen had just left the inn and was jogging over to her grinning.

'Hey, nice tunic,' she snorted once she was close enough.  
'Thanks,' said Fritha with a wry smile.  
Imoen grinned, giving her an appraising sort of look.  
'Look at you, all dressed up and ready to go.'  
'Yes, well…hang on, how did _you_ know I was leaving?'  
Imoen's face fell and Fritha caught a glimpse of her unease before the smile was back.

'What, oh, I heard Whelan talking about it to one of the other sages when I finally returned from his errands.'  
'Well, okay…'  
'So, d'you know where you're headed yet?' Imoen asked, quickly changing the subject.  
Fritha shook her head.  
'No, and Gorion's refusal to even discuss it makes me think it's somewhere I won't like. We'll camp down for the night and I'll wake in the morning to find I've been enrolled in the Flaming Fist, or something equally unappealing.'  
Imoen snorted again, smiling ruefully.

'You know, I'm really going to miss you.'  
'Oh, don't worry, nothing could keep me away from this place for long,' she grinned, trying to cheer herself as well as Imoen.  
A gruff shout from behind started them both.  
'Imoen!'  
Fritha glanced back to see the figure of Steen beckoning at them, his eyes sharp behind the wizened face.  
'Oh, time to go,' said Imoen, pulling her friend into a warm embrace, 'safe journey.' Fritha watched them re-enter the inn before continuing her walk to the keep.

She was only a few paces further on when a muffled smash followed by a string of curses rang out from the priests' quarters. Fritha glanced again at the sky before crossing to the hut and tentatively pushing open the door.  
'Hello? Parda?'

The room was dark and close, every window shut, the curtains drawn, and she could just make out the outline of furniture towards the back. Her heart quickening, she moved slowly through the door and into the room, stopping suddenly as something crunched under foot. She crouched down to find the floor littered the broken shards of a bowl.  
'You are the ward of Gorion, no doubt?'

Fritha jumped, whirling round to face the voice. A man was stood in the shadows behind the door.  
'Wh-who are you and what are you doing here?' she stammered, feeling properly afraid now.  
She saw the man smile, stepping forward slightly and gently pushing the door closed.  
'Who I am is unimportant, but who you are is very much so.'  
The man began slowly advancing as he spoke, causing her to back away, further and further from the door.  
'I apologise for this dirty bit of business but it would seem your head is worth an exceptional amount to me. I kill you myself and I need not share credit with anyone.'

He smiled again and suddenly his dagger was drawn and he lunged at her. Fritha screamed, grabbing his wrist to avert the blow. He missed but struck her fiercely with his free hand, sending her to the ground, pulling him with her. They struggled for a moment but the weight of him on top of her was making it difficult to draw breath. Her arms felt like lead as she fought to keep his hands away; her strength was failing her. She felt the dagger graze her temple and panic surged within her.  
In one quick movement she pulled the dagger down, stabbing it in the floor near her head and had punched out with her other hand. The man reeled and she had enough time to push him off, rolling backwards into a kneeling position. A second later, the man had freed his knife, looking up at her with a cruel smirk but it was too late. The last thing he saw was his quarry knelt before him and the flash of a blade. She sat back on her haunches panting, trying to forget the sickening thud his head had made as it hit the floor.

Fritha stumbled outside, dazed and blinking against the brightness. Had that just happened? She glanced back to the doorway, finding it open; a dark yawning hole into the hut.  
'Fritha?'  
She started, whirling round to find the priest, Parda, stood behind her, his lined old face creased with concern.

'Fritha, are you well? You've cut yourself there, above the brow.'  
He gestured slightly and Fritha, who had only half heard him, moved her hand tentatively to her forehead.  
Parda watched her, trying to make eye contact as she stared with wonder at her now bloody fingers.  
'Something in your eyes tells me something is very wrong indeed, child.'  
This seemed to get her attention and she pulled her gaze away from her hand to look at him. Her eyes had never seemed so dark.  
'Its…its nothing, Parda. I was at Phlydia's this morning, one of the cats didn't like me petting it, is all.'  
Parda was about to press her further but suddenly the library bell pealed out, signalling highsun. Fritha jerked at the sound, suddenly alert.  
'Oh Gods, Gorion!' she cried, exiting at a dead run, leaving the priest to gaze after her, sadly shaking his head.

Fritha hurtled along the path to the library, dodging guards and sages alike, a sense of desperation and a need to distance herself from what had just happened fuelling her. She swerved to narrowly miss a heavily laden scholar, vaulting gracefully over the hay bales that lay in her new path and rounding the corner to the entrance arch.  
She skidded slightly as she turned before racing through, the garden just a blur as she came to the steps and Gorion.  
Fritha halted before him, out of breath and shaking.

'Running late were you?' he quipped, although his voice was stern.  
But Fritha could not even hold his gaze for long, let alone reply and after a moment lowered her eyes in silence.  
'What, no excuses?' he questioned more kindly.  
Fritha opened her mouth to reply, longing to tell him about the man, the blood, everything, but the words stuck in her throat.  
'…No, nothing,' she finally answered. Gorion watched her a moment longer before seeming to accept this, and carried on.  
'Well, you're here now, so let us leave immediately. Now listen very carefully…'

xxx

Fritha hurried along behind Gorion, finding it hard to match the breakneck pace of the taller man. She pulled her cloak around her, breathing in the newness of it, trying to calm the uneasy tension in her stomach. First formed by the attack in the clerics' rooms, it had only been heightened by Gorion's words of warning as they'd left the Keep and now darkness had fallen in the forest she'd watched so many times and never once set foot in, she found herself almost sick with anxiety.

Suddenly, Gorion stopped, signalling her to do the same. She stood behind him silently, desperately trying to listen for danger over the noisy hissing of the trees.  
'Fritha, we are in an ambush,' Gorion at last whispered, and she felt her heart quicken, 'stay back there.'  
Without looking round, her gave her a shove towards a tree a couple of paces back before taking a step forward.  
'I know you are there, show yourselves!'

Fritha's breath caught as the group stepped into the clearing, there had to be about half a dozen of them, but that alone was not the cause of her alarm. At their centre stood a huge warrior clad in armour the likes of which Fritha had only read about. Great sections of plate metal fit seamlessly together, decorated here and there with spikes and skulls, only to be crowned with a helm shaped like the head of some terrible beast and inside its gaping jaws Fritha could see a glinting pair of human eyes.  
Eyes that were trained on her.

'You're perceptive for an old man. You know why I'm here, hand over your ward and no one will be hurt.'  
Gorion snorted.  
'You're a fool if you believe I would trust to your benevolence. Step aside and you and you're lackeys will be unharmed.'  
The knight smiled cruelly.  
'I'm sorry you feel that way, old man.'  
Battle erupted.

Fritha watched, breathless as Gorion wove spell after spell, the forest alive with colours as bodies littered the ground. And then, that monstrosity of a knight was before him. Even after all she had seen of Gorion's skills she wanted to yell for him to run, to escape. Something about this man was wrong; just to look at him made her insides freeze. Gorion stood his ground though, throwing out a volley of fiercely glowing spheres. The knight remained still and Fritha wondered for a moment if it had worked before he moved so swiftly she barely saw the blade.

The result, though, was all too plain.  
Gorion stood, swaying slightly, before crumpling to the ground.  
Fritha felt as though the blow had hit her too. She staggered backward, her eyes fixed on his body, a strangled cry left her throat and she turned and ran.


	3. Friends

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein.  
Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine. 

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Friends **

Fritha was running desperately fast, aware of sound all around her. Her lungs screaming for air, she plunged on through the undergrowth, branches snaring on her clothes as she fled. Suddenly something caught her foot and before she knew it she was on the ground, her mouth filling with dirt and leaves as she cried out in surprise. She kicked out franticly, flipping on to her back to defend herself only to find her assailant was nothing more than a gnarled old root. She laid there a moment, her breath coming in sharp gasps as the pain from her stitch reached a crescendo before panic filled her again. A heartbeat later, she had staggered to her feet and set off once more; flying through the trees as fast as before.

Finally, she halted, stepping round a tree and throwing herself into a bush. She crouched there, her skin trembling with the force of the pulse behind it, straining to hear the sounds of her pursuers over the roar of blood in her ears. She was alone.  
Her breathing, already heavy, began to come in shuddering gasps.  
Shaking, she slumped back against the tree and wept.

xxx

Fritha jerked awake, almost falling from her perch in the beech tree she had climbed the night before and instantly grabbing a branch above her to steady herself. The sun had risen and the leaves around her were wet with dew; how long had she slept for? She heard movement beneath her and her heart seemed to stop. She peered down through the leaves, not daring to breathe, until she focused on a familiar cerise head.  
It was Imoen.

All at once she was flooded with relief and practically collapsed down from the tree to greet her.  
'Imoen.'  
The girl jumped slightly and turned to face her. They stood a moment looking at each other before rushing forward into a fierce embrace.  
'Gods, Fritha, I was so worried! There was no sign of you anywhere,' Imoen cried as they parted before her voice dropped suddenly and she continued in almost a whisper, 'I…I saw what happened to Gorion…I'm so sorry.'  
Fritha swallowed back a new wave of tears and looking past her relief at having her friend with her, realised the fact that Imoen was outside Candlekeep and had come to find her.

'You… you know about that?'  
'You know the monks that were expected from the Carleck Order? They arrived last night talking about hearing the sounds of fighting. They thought it was bandits but…'  
'How could you have known it was us?'  
'I read a letter on his desk the other day,' Imoen said, shaking her head, sadly, 'I can't remember exactly what it said, I got disturbed, only that you were in some kind of danger. When I heard that there'd been an attack not half a mile from the Keep, well…here I am.'  
Fritha felt awful. Now they were both in danger and it was all her fault.

'Oh, Imoen, they won't let us back in, you know. You never-'  
'Oh don't start on with that, I had enough hassle from Winthrope before I left.'  
Imoen grinned.  
'I'm here now, so what are we going to do?'  
Fritha smiled weakly, rubbing her face briskly in an effort to wake up.

'Right, Gorion said his friends were staying at the Friendly Arm Inn and that I should head there if…'  
She shook herself, unwilling to think of what happened. Imoen noticed, putting an arm round her shoulders.  
'Perhaps we should go back there, see the body… say goodbye…'  
'No. I'm never going back there,' she answered with finality, starting the walk northward, 'come on, we can make it by sundown if we hurry.'

xxx

The day had turned out to be as fine as the one before and Imoen felt she could have quite enjoyed her walk in the woods had it been under other circumstances. Fritha seemed to be bearing up well though, even if she was a little terse sometimes…

'Well, you were a bit rude to him considering he was a stranger and all,' she said reproachfully as she and Fritha discussed an odd encounter they'd just had further down the path.  
'No I wasn't, I just pointed out that going around asking people about their mental stability was a bit of an insane thing to do. Besides, he didn't seem offended.'  
'No…' she admitted slowly, 'but he was a bit strange, wasn't he.'  
'Yes, well that's mages for you,' said Fritha knowledgeable, 'the magic messes with their heads. More magic-users suffer from insanity than in any other profession, bar milliners.'

'Where d'you learn that?'  
'During my research for 'The History of Magic Use: from the Discovery of the Nether Scrolls to present day'. It was one of the essays Jesseth set me so he didn't have to teach me any actual spells. Said I couldn't be trusted.'  
Imoen smiled. That sounded like Jesseth.  
'And what did he say when you presented him with that fact.'  
Fritha shrugged.  
'Nothing, but he did increase the word limit by four thousand. Hey look,' said Fritha, pointing, 'there's someone up ahead.'

Imoen gazed up the path to see what looked to be a man and a halfling watching them approach. The man was tall and narrow, dressed in tatty green robes. His were eyes darting here and there, emphasised by the strange tattoos that surrounded them. The halfling wore simple clothes in various shades of brown, blending with his own earthy pallor so the only real point of colour were the gold earrings that hung from ear each.

'Hold Montaron, this young wayfarer is in need. Someone has set about thee stranger and ye have barely escaped with your life,' said the man, addressing Fritha with a concerned smile.  
'Aye Xzar, looks to have been roughed up quite well,' agreed the halfling, although Imoen found his look to be more 'professional appraisal' than concerned.  
'Indeed. I can offer you a healing potion if you wish, as a token of goodwill.'  
'Ah, thanks but I'm okay, it looks worse than it is,' said Fritha, pulling a twig from her hair.

Imoen felt suspicious of the interest these strangers were showing. They'd brushed the worst of the dirt off her tunic when they'd stopped for a snack at lunchtime and Fritha's hair always tended to be a bit on the wild side. Apart from a dark bruise blossoming along the line of her jaw, Imoen thought she looked fine.

'As you wish,' Xzar continued, with a little giggle, 'but you seem of the adventuring sort, perhaps you would go with us Nashkel. It is a troubled area and we mean to investigate some disturbing rumours surrounding the local mine. The iron suffers some disease, leading to a shortage. We are to meet the mayor of the town, a Berrun Ghasthill I believe.'

Imoen eyed the men. Xzar had begun gnawing his fingers muttering softly to himself while Montaron was leering and her and Fritha, cleaning his nails with a vicious-looking dagger. Imoen suppressed a shudder. Fritha glanced back to her and she tried to indicate in everything but words that she did _not_ like this plan. Fritha just shrugged though, turning back to the strangers.

'Sure, we will join with you, but we must meet someone at the Friendly Arm Inn first, you can come too though, if you like.'  
To Imoen's dismay, the men reluctantly agreed and continued the journey north. Imoen hung back though, grabbing the collar of her friend's tunic to stop her too.  
'Fritha, do you really think this is a good idea?' she hissed with a wary glance to the men's retreating backs.  
'Yes, why not? If they had wanted to harm us, surely they would have attacked outright? Besides, Gorion said it would be safer to travel in groups.'  
Fritha gave her a smile and started to follow their new companions.  
'I'm not so sure with these two.' Imoen muttered darkly before jogging after her.

xxx

Imoen scowled again at the figure of Montaron walking next to her, the silence between them crackling with animosity. Behind her she could hear Fritha's familiar giggle punctuate the friendly chatter between her and Xzar as they brought up the rear.  
_How can she like him?_ wondered Imoen crossly for the sixth time that afternoon. Fritha made no sense sometimes, Xzar and Montaron were clearly very suspect; they both knew this. She'd spoken to Fritha about the fact continuously as they'd followed the men north.

Earlier, in an effort to be friendly, Imoen had tried asking them about their mission to Nashkel. Xzar had just muttered something about 'their group wanted the issue looked into' before quickly changing the subject and Montaron had actually threatened her with bodily harm when she brought it up. A fact that Fritha contested when she complained to her later, claiming "Shut yer mouth or I'll shut it for ye" was something that she herself would soon be saying to Imoen if she didn't stop going on about it.

At first she thought that Fritha just hadn't realised that their companions were less than trustworthy, but it had turned out she thought exactly the same as Imoen.  
'Then, why are we travelling with them?' Imoen had questioned, exasperated by the fact that Fritha didn't seem to be taking it too seriously.

'Because it's a lot safer than travelling on our own! Look, I know they're probably not best choice for travelling companions and we can't trust them for a second, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends,' she'd answered with a grin. But, on seeing Imoen's increasing annoyance, had added, 'Imoen, I can't just dislike people because they are "evil". Necessity demands we travel with them and I don't see why I should pretend to be all cross about it when I'm not.'  
Imoen had not wanted to let the issue lie though which was possibly why, after a few minutes, Fritha had struck up a conversation with Xzar _and_ why she was still stuck walking next to Montaron over an hour later.

Imoen sighed inwardly. Fritha's attitude of 'live and let live' was all right in theory, but such an open nature could lead to danger. She scowled again as laughter pealed out from the couple behind her, glancing up to the heavens with a prayer on her lips only to find it already answered. Just above the trees she could make out the grey of battlements against the sky; the Friendly Arm Inn.

They joined the short queue that was moving slowly through the gate as they arrived and but a few minutes later, after a prolonged explanation of the rules, they were allowed to enter. Inside the high stone walls, a few houses, stables and a temple were found, all dominated by the imposing keep that towered at their centre. It was a large building, at least as large as Candlekeep but the architecture was much plainer, as though the original builders had more pressing concerns on their minds.

Fritha led the way, following the guards' directions and walking to the steps on the east side of the keep.  
At the top stood a man in dark grey robes watching all who approached. His eyes drifted over them absently before suddenly snapping back to her.

'Ho friend,' he said, walking down the steps to her, 'I've not seen you here before today. What brings you to the Friendly Arm Inn?'  
'Nothing much really,' said Fritha, sending a puzzled glance behind her to Xzar and Imoen, 'just looking for a place to rest.'  
He smiled widely in a way that she didn't quite trust.  
'I see, I see. Pardon my being too forward, but you've the bearing of someone I've been looking for. Might you have travelled from Candlekeep by any chance?'

'I may have visited there on occasion,' Fritha replied with what she hoped looked like a casual shrug, 'so?'  
'Oh, nothing really, I'm just looking for someone from that region. Would your name be Fritha by any chance?'  
His voice was calm, friendly even, but his eyes where sharp and alert, studying her face intently. She forced herself to meet his gaze.  
'Never heard that name before in my life, sorry,' she said, making to walk past him. Instantly an arm was barring her way.  
'Really, I would beg to differ. Don't move, I have something for you…'

Fritha jumped back with a little scream, as suddenly there was not one man before her, but six, all making the same movements, their dull chanting filling the air. She drew her sword, slashing wildly at the nearest figure; she had to break his concentration or the next spell he cast could be the last thing she'd ever see. One of Imoen's arrows flew past and the figure finally disappeared while behind her she could hear Xzar reciting a spell of his own.

They were running out of time though. The man's hands were moving more violently and at their centre, she could see an arrow forming. There were two figures left when the chanting finally stopped. He looked up and Fritha, panic fuelling her, made a last ditch attack, swinging at and straight through the left figure. The last copy flickered out. For a split second, the burning arrow hovered meaningfully in his hands. The man caught her eye and smiled, the energy between his palms surging as the arrow readied for release. And then it stopped.

Fritha watched, horrified, as the eyes widened and the smile twisted in to an agonised grimace. The arrow faded as he clutched at his chest, finally slumping to the ground. Behind him stood a familiar figure, half cloaked in the shadow of the steps.  
'Montaron?'

The halfling was grinning proudly, showing both rows of uneven brown teeth and, in Fritha's opinion taking, far to much enjoyment in what he had just done. He sheathed his dagger and Imoen stared, aghast as the thief bent down and began to frisk the body.  
'Come on, he can't hurt ye now,' he said almost kindly.

Fritha shrugged slightly and, wincing, crouched down to help him search. Imoen, though, flatly refused and walked a little way off while they worked, as though even watching such things offended her.  
There wasn't much on the body; Montaron pocketed what little gold there was, but Fritha found a couple of scrolls tucked in his belt that she went to show to Imoen. Apparently, Imoen's problem with robbing bodies did not extend to the spoils, especially ones so tempting; Imoen had been fascinated with magic for as long as Fritha could remember.

'Look what I found, Imoen,' she called, tossing the parchment to her.  
'Ooo, a spell!' her friend breathed, holding it with a care that bordered on reverence, 'what's that one?'  
'Bounty notice,' she answered with a shrug, 'but they're only offering two hundred gold pieces. No one half-decent is going to bother chasing me about for that.'  
'Oi, ye coming?'  
Fritha looked round to see Montaron halfway up the stairs, the hem of Xzar's robes just disappearing through the door.

Inside, Fritha found a larger and _much_ busier version of Winthrop's inn. People were everywhere, sat and stood in couples and groups while waitresses bustled between them. Fritha was reminded of the time Tethtoril showed her the hive he kept round the back of the keep; all those bees buzzing about their lives, unaware of how fragile their existence actually was, unaware of them or the power they held. She had told Tethtoril she felt like a god watching those bees, but he had just laughed gently and sent her back to her chores.

'Fritha? Hello?'  
Imoen was waving a hand in front of her face.  
'Sorry, I got distracted.'  
'Yeah, I realised,' she said with a grin, 'I said, shall we go and look for those friends?'  
'Yes,' Fritha answered, turning to the men, 'we had best go and find them.'  
Montaron nodded.  
'Fine. We'll be at the bar. Xzar…Xzar?'

The necromancer was busy scribbling in a small book, muttering to himself. Montaron elbowed him viciously in the ribs.  
'Ah! Right, well, we shall go and ah, fetch some drinks.'  
Fritha nodded and they parted, the two men disappearing off into the crowd.  
'Thank Mask they're gone,' sighed Imoen with a passion.  
'Huh, you'd have missed them when we met that bounty hunter!' said Fritha sharply, scanning about the room, 'come on, let's hope Gorion's friends are more to your taste.'

This proved to be a more difficult task than first expected though and it was not until after their third circle of the room that they met with success. Fritha and Imoen were stood by the stairs, discussing whether or not to start searching the upper floors when a voice rang out over the din.  
'Hey!'

They turned at the sound to see two lightly armoured figures, both of an elven heritage, stood in the nearby corner. They were of equal height but both were taller than her and Imoen, the woman lightly tanned, tawny wavy hair stopping at her shoulders while the man was paler, his dark auburn hair tied back off his face.  
Fritha tensed as they approached.  
'If they do _anything_, run for it, okay?'  
Imoen nodded.

'Something about you is f-familiar, child,' stuttered the man, narrowing his deep blue eyes.  
Fritha frowned slightly; they could at least vary their banter.  
'Your manner reminds me of a sage I know b-by the name of Gorion.'  
That got her attention though and she heard Imoen's surprised gasp behind her.  
'It _does_?'  
'It is almost a slight on him, but I see it too,' said the woman dryly, and Fritha caught Imoen with an elbow just in time to stop any retort.

'I'm Fritha and this is Imoen, Gorion was my foster father.'  
'_Was_? He is not with you?' continued the woman, looking alarmed, 'I must assume the worst; he would not permit his only child to wander without his accompaniment.'  
'I am Khalid and this is Jaheira,' said the man with a kind smile, 'we are old friends of your adopted father if…if he has passed, we share your loss.'  
'Gorion often said that he worried for your safety, even at the expense of his own,' Jaheira said brusquely. 'He also wished that Khalid and I would become your guardians if he should ever meet an untimely end. However, you are much older now and the choice of your companions should be your own.'

Fritha felt slightly hurt that Gorion seemed to have always known of this danger, even to the point where she had been assigned guardians, and he had never told her.  
'We could t-travel with you until you get settled; help you find your l-lot in life.'  
'Khalid and I are to look in to local concerns and there are rumours of strange things happening at the Nashkel mine. No doubt you have heard of the iron shortage? You would do well to help us. It affects everyone, including you. We are to meet the mayor of the town Berrun Ghasthill.'

'We're already going to Nashkel. Our current companions wish to visit there as well,' said Fritha, brightening as, on cue, Xzar and Montaron arrived back from the bar.  
'Ah, Fritha, here is thy- oh'  
'Xzar, Montaron, allow me to present Khalid and Jaheira, old friends of my father.'  
The tension was palpable as an awkward silence descended onto the group. 'Indeed? Interesting…' said Jaheira finally, casting a coldly critical eye over the two, 'in that case I think we should definitely travel as one. You can never be too careful about the dangers of the open road, wherever they may spring from…'

Xzar and Montaron took one look at each other and excused themselves, having a furtive conversation a few paces away before Xzar scurried back to them.  
'Ah, er, Fritha, a word if thee please,' he mumbled, trying to avoid Jaheira's gaze and Fritha followed him back to the halfling.  
Xzar glanced to his companion who scowled and nodded impatiently.  
'Montaron and, er, I have decided it would be for the best if we went our separate ways. Our undertakings and those of thy friends may, ah, differ in the future so we leave for Nashkel, ah, now.'  
'Oh, okay…'  
Fritha shrugged in acceptance; at least Imoen would be happy.  
'Per-Perhaps, we shall meet again soon,' the mage ventured with another glance to Montaron.  
'Bye then,' Fritha smiled, reaching out to warmly shake his hand, 'safe journey.'  
Xzar stood staring at her in a dazed sort of way until Montaron slapped his arm. 'Oh yes, ah, farewell.'

Fritha watched them leave the inn, before turning back to what was left of the group. Imoen was laughing about something while it looked as though Khalid was trying to talk Jaheira away from throttling her. Fritha sighed.  
Why did she have the feeling that in a few hours time she would be longing for the company of a murderous halfling and a mad necromancer?

xxx

Jaheira stood a moment staring at her reflection in the candlelight. The lines seemed more pronounced tonight, or perhaps it was just her. She sighed, pulling on her shirt and running a hand through her hair.  
'Perhaps it would be best if we just took them back to Candlekeep, the road is no place for such young girls.'

Khalid looked up from the book he had been pretending to read and watched his wife combing her hair. He had been expecting this ever since dinner.  
'Jaheira, they will not let them back in and you know it. It took all Gorion's influence to allow her to stay there, with him gone-'  
'Fine!' she snapped slamming down the comb and sitting down at the foot of the bed, 'but what are we supposed to do? Take them with us? You saw them at dinner, they are far too young to be travelling in these times!'  
Khalid sighed, unwilling to have an argument so late in the day.

'They are both of age and managed to get here without our assistance.'  
'Yes, and with the two worst companions imaginable! Who knows what would have happened to them if they had not found us.'  
He smiled; it was nice to know that under her pretence of annoyance, she was concerned for their safety, even if she would never admit it.

'They are young in judgement, I agree,' he said calmly, patting the bed next to him and putting out the candle, 'but they will mature soon enough when the situation demands it.'  
Jaheira looked unconvinced but did shift over to him and lay down under the covers. Khalid lay down too, nestling up to his wife.  
'Things will be fine, dearest, trust me.'

xxx

Imoen sat in bed, watching Fritha's face in the mirror as she stood braiding her hair.  
'Maybe we should tell them we've changed our minds, you know, go our own way…' she suggested slowly, trying to gauge her reaction.  
'And do what?' Fritha snorted, turning to face her, 'we've nowhere to stay and no money unless you plan on turning bounty hunter.'

Imoen scowled at the bounty notice Fritha had just tossed in front of her. Not only was she right about having no home or money, it was also a subtle reminded that there were people out there wanting to kill her; this was not a time they should be travelling alone.  
'I know, I know,' Imoen conceded, answering her own voice of reason as well as Fritha's, 'but you saw them at dinner, that Jaheira woman hates us already, I can tell!'  
Fritha nodded tiredly before giving a shrug and moving over to the bed.

'Gorion said we can trust them and that's good enough for me. Look, they got rid of Xzar and Montaron; I thought you'd be singing their praises for that! Here, skoosh over,' she said, lifting the blanket and shooing her with her hand.  
'Yeah, I suppose,' Imoen sighed, lying down, 'it's just things'll be no fun with that druid around.'  
'Oh, Imoen,' Fritha smiled, leaning over to blow out the candle, 'things will be fine, trust me.'


	4. Beginnings

**Disclaimer: **I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters there in.  
Wizards of the Coast do at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it, it's probably mine.

Blackcross & Taylor

**Beginnings**

Jaheira glanced out the window, looking south over the forests and hills they would be crossing that day on their way to Beregost. She sighed tiredly as she shoved things into her pack. She hadn't slept much last night, her worries and concerns for what the future now held haunting her like hungry ghosts. Khalid had tried to reassure her, but it just felt like he was ignoring the problem rather than solving it.

Jaheira shook her head; Khalid probably had the right idea. There was nothing more they could do, so why worry about it? Their planned course may be a highly dangerous one for two such inexperienced girls, but they had nowhere safer to go and with a bounty on Fritha's head they could not travel alone. But…  
Jaheira sighed again.  
Gorion gave his life to keep the child safe; she didn't known what she'd do if Fritha died because of her.  
The druid shook herself, suddenly angry that she felt this anxious. Where was Khalid? She'd sent him to hurry along the girls an age ago. Jaheira shouldered her pack and, grabbing Khalid's, headed for the door.

In the corridor though, it became obvious that even setting the girls the simple task of packing their own things had been a grave overestimation of their abilities. Raised voices, laughter and the occasional shriek could be heard from their open doorway, mixed with the familiar stuttering that marked Khalid.  
Jaheira marched down the corridor her anger building within her…  
'Here, let me-'  
'Ow! Stop pulling! It's caught on my hair!'  
'M-m-maybe if-'  
'GET OFF!'

Jaheira groaned inwardly. She must have offended the gods in some way to be cursed with such a group. She fumed silently as she watched Fritha stumble blindly around the room stuck halfway into the new chainmail shirt she'd purchased downstairs, whilst Imoen attempted to help her at the same time as being near paralysed with laughter. Khalid stood nearby trying in vain to advise them but, on seeing Jaheira, seemed to decide that his efforts would be best employed calming his irate wife.

'Look at them! Children!' she spat, as though it was the most venomous insult she knew.  
'N-n-now, Jaheira,' started Khalid, trying to placate her.  
'Don't you 'Jaheira' me! This is just as I feared. To think we are to travel with those two; they act like they have not half a mind between them!'

A sharp cry from Fritha signalled Imoen had finally calmed enough to wrench the mail over her head and the couple turned to find the two girls stood watching them, Fritha looking rather pink and dishevelled, still clutching a tuft of scratty red hair.  
'Problem?' Imoen asked innocently.  
Jaheira stood a moment staring at her with, what Fritha described later as 'rabid fury', before turning on her heel and storming from the room, Khalid hurrying after her.  
'J-J-Jaheira…'

xxx

Fritha listened to the song of unseen birds as she followed Jaheira and Khalid through the trees, Imoen at her side. It had been mid-morning by the time they'd finally left the inn and now Jaheira was driving them south at a breakneck pace. Imoen glanced to her and grinned, wiping the sweat from her brow. Fritha too felt hot, the weight of the new chainmail digging in at her neck; she'd have to buy some sort of padding once they reached Beregost.  
A thrill of excitement travelled up her spine making her shiver in spite of the heat. Beregost.

She had never even set foot in a village before, let alone a town. Many of the groups and sages that visited Candlekeep stayed overnight there during their journey and she had often wondered about the town that lay so close and yet seemed so far away. She had mentioned her anticipation to Imoen earlier, but the girl had been unimpressed. She had been to a few local towns before with Winthrope and others, and though never to Beregost itself, she claimed they were all one and the same. Fritha could not comment; the only times she'd ever be allowed to leave the Keep had been the occasional summer's day when she and Imoen had been taken to the nearby beach to help dig for clams.

A hand on her arm stopped her and she looked across to Imoen who gestured ahead of them. Fritha turned to see Khalid stood, an arrow already nocked, Jaheira slowly prowling forward.  
Suddenly, something screeched and small canine creatures came leaping from the undergrowth before them, a crazed barking filling the air.  
Kobolds.

Jaheira had her staff in hand before she could blink and one of the creatures was already stumbling backward, an arrow through its chest. At her side she saw Imoen pulling back her bow as she herself drew her sword. A snarl to her left caught her attention and she turned just in time to defend a blow to her legs. She parried quickly, felling the kobold and stepping back to defend against another. The battle seemed to blur from that point on; just a chaos of blades and fur until-  
'Look out!'

Fritha whirled just in time to see the kobold archer release its bow. She twisted clumsily, desperate to get out of the arrow's path. It missed, only grazing her hand, but that was enough. Fritha dropped her sword with a cry just as another creature jumped from the undergrowth, its teeth bared along with its sword. She leapt backward, narrowly avoiding the swipe of its blade and stumbled, half falling back against a tree. Fritha groped around her, desperate for anything to put between her and it. The kobold loomed over her before springing forward just as her hand found the neck of the lute hanging at her back.

_THWACK _

The lute and kobold hit mid-air, a horrible mixture of yelp and discord resonating out from them. The kobold fell back stunned only to be dealt with by Khalid and finally there was silence.

Fritha slumped back against the tree, panting, the neck still clutched in her hand while the rest of the lute dangled miserably, attached only by the strings. Suddenly Jaheira came into view, face flushed and furious, and Fritha wondered why she'd been so scared of that kobold.

xxx

Night had fallen quickly and all Fritha could hear were the sounds of the night creatures and the hiss of the rain in the campfire. In the branches above her a blanket had been hung, providing a dry spot in which she and Imoen now huddled. Across the fire she watched Khalid and Jaheira talk, their voices low. Fritha sighed, turning her attention back to the two broken halves of lute laid in her lap while Imoen threw her last crust of bread into the fire, tossing a scowl to the pair with it, before turning to her friend.  
'I can't believe Jaheira; she really laid in to you!' she began with a wary glance to check they weren't being overheard.

Fritha smiled at her friend's concern.  
'Oh, don't let it bother you; she was just worried.'  
'She didn't sound very worried!' said Imoen with another scowl to the woman.  
Fritha shrugged. Jaheira had been very angry that was true, and she'd said some rather choice things about her mental aptitude and physical state, but Fritha did not take any of it to heart. Jaheira's anger had been born from fear not malice. It was just seemed to be the druid's way of expressing her more intense emotions.

'Jaheira doesn't want us here-  
'Well, _that's_ clear!'  
'It's _not_ that she doesn't like us, she's worried for our safety, scared she can't protect us.'  
Imoen looked sceptical.  
'How d'you know?'  
Fritha shrugged; it was obvious wasn't it?  
'Yeah, well, she still shouldn't have said those things,' Imoen continued, watching her closely as though trying to gauge how hurt she'd been.

Fritha smiled.  
'I've heard worse, even Gorion had his moments…'  
And as soon as the words left her mouth she wished she hadn't said them, hadn't even thought them. It was as though a lump of ice had been dropped into her stomach. She hadn't thought of him all day and the guilt of this realisation lay heavy on her.  
'Do you miss him?' asked Imoen quietly and Fritha wanted more than anything to say yes, to cry and grieve, but it would have been a lie.  
She sighed deeply and shook her head.  
'Not as much as I feel I should.'  
She glanced to Imoen, ready to face her appalled look but the girl just nodded calmly for her to continue.

'It's complicated. And I, I feel so guilty about it but… I loved him and I know he loved me but… but I just felt I was becoming less of a daughter to him and more of a nuisance. Plus, this life is new to me; he was never here to miss.'  
Fritha smiled weakly.  
'It's almost as though he's still at home in Candlekeep waiting for me.'  
She looked down at the broken lute in her hands, laying the pieces gently beside her pack.  
'It's no good; I'll find someone to fix it tomorrow. Night Imoen.'

xxx

Jaheira covered her eyes against the glare of the midday sun and watched Khalid cross Beregost's main square, returning from the tavern.  
'Any news?'  
Khalid shook his head.  
'Nothing. The contact for this area says it's the same all along the Sword Coast. The iron is rotten, the ruling council in Baldur's Gate seem content to blame Amn and they claim to have no knowledge of the matter.'  
Jaheira sighed.  
'We have to get to Nashkel. Find out who _is_ behind this.'

Still, however important their mission was, they both knew that more pressing concerns now faced them. After buying the additional rations and equipment needed for the two extra people now in their company, money was definitely in short supply. She had even been reluctant to allow the girl to have her lute fixed since it was of no real use to her anyway, but Imoen had _just happened_ to mention it had been a gift from Gorion and Khalid would hear nothing against it being mended from then on.  
Jaheira frowned.  
For some reason, Fritha disturbed her as much as the iron crisis did.

She had commented to Khalid about the awe with which Fritha had first entered Beregost, a small town and not an especially impressive one either. It wasn't until Imoen interrupted, explaining that Fritha had never before left Candlekeep, that her behaviour had made sense. Still, Jaheira had found Fritha, and the excitement she held for everything in Beregost, unnerving, and had sent the girls to explore at a distance at the earliest opportunity.

Jaheira glanced behind her. Imoen was talking to the town crier and Fritha was still in the workshop of a nearby carpenter having that useless instrument of hers mended. She watched as the girl finally paid the man and, calling to Imoen as she passed, skipped back to them her lute in its usual place, slung across her back.

'Hello Khalid, Jaheira,' Fritha greeted as a voice called from across the square.  
'Hail adventurers.'  
Fritha looked up to see a handsome youth with curly brown hair and a harp at his belt approaching them. He bowed once as he arrived and continued politely.  
'How would you like a well-paid job as bodyguards for my mistress?'  
Imoen voiced what they were all thinking.

'Well, we do need the money…'  
Fritha nodded in agreement and the young man smiled.  
'I'm Garrick and I work for Silke Rosena. She's the most skilled musician and actor along the Sword Coast. In fact, she's to play at the Ducal Palace before the month's done. But she's been having some problems of late. Some thugs have been hired by Feldpost to hurt her because she didn't perform at his inn when she was supposed to, not that you can blame her with a villain like Feldpost running the place. She needs mercenaries to protect her until she's ready to go to Baldur's Gate. She's willing to pay about three hundred gold. What do you say?'

Fritha turned to them.  
'Well the month ends in a fortnight so we wouldn't be working for her longer than that. What do you think?'  
'It sounds acceptable,' said Jaheira with a nod and Fritha turned back to Garrick.  
'Okay. That sounds fair.'  
'This way please.'

They followed the man around the corner to where a short gracile woman was stood outside the inn. She was very pretty with olive skin and a shining length of straight black hair and, like Garrick, she had a harp slung at her hip.

'Mistress, these are the mercenaries I hired.'  
'Greetings, I am Silke, thespian extraordinaire,' she trilled with a smile, 'I assume that Garrick has explained what your duties are to be. You must simply dispose of the ruffians when they come to threaten me and guard me against any further attacks until I leave for Baldur's Gate. They shouldn't be too hard to deal with but be warned, one is a mage whose words can sway the wisest man-'  
'No hope for you then, Fritha,' Imoen whispered, smirking.  
'-So I would advise you do not speak with them.'

Silke turned to look up the street, her dark hair sweeping over elegantly over her shoulder as she did so.  
'Ah, here they are now; Feldpost's thugs, strike when I tell you to,' she said and Fritha wondered at their timing as three men approached.  
'Greetings Silke. We're here as you've asked and we have the…' the first began genially enough.  
'Don't threaten me!' Silke snarled, the airiness suddenly gone from her voice 'I won't be easy prey for you to beat on. I've brought friends!'  
'What are you talking about? We're here with the gems that-'  
'Shut up! There'll be no weaselling out of this one. STRIKE NOW! KILL THEM ALL!'  
'What?' questioned Fritha, confused, 'You _are_ joking? They haven't done anything!'  
Silke's smile faded and her eyes grew wide.  
'What? Our deal is off! I'll deal with them myself, after I deal with you!'

The fight was painfully brief. They had just all surged forward at once, before Silke'd had a chance to raise her blade, and she was gone. Fritha had wondered how anyone's arrogance could be so overwhelming in the face of such odds. Still, it was a mistake Silke would never make again…

The men they had been instructed to kill were grateful enough though, and had given them a little gold as a token of their thanks before hurrying off again, obviously not wanting to be associated with any trouble. Behind her she heard a sigh and she turned to see Garrick staring dully at the body as Khalid gently searched it.

'Silke's dead. I guess she had it coming, but it does kind of leave me out of a job…' he sighed dejectedly.  
'Here, come on,' said Fritha, trying to cheer him and ignore the body herself, 'we're going to the inn. Buy you a drink?'  
Garrick looked up, his young face suddenly brighter.  
'Really? Thanks.'

xxx

The inn, once crowded and noisy, had slowly emptied over the course of the evening and now only they and a few other diligent patrons remained. Fritha felt somewhat easier now there were less people about. Another bounty hunter had been waiting for her here and she'd been a little edgy ever since, unable to look at any stranger without wondering whether they too had a blade for her.  
Garrick yawned and stretched in his seat, knocking over one of the many empty cups that now littered the table.

'Well, friends, it's been an enjoyable evening, but I really should get back to my lodgings.'  
'Yes, it's late,' agreed Fritha, rising to shake hands with him, 'sorry about killing your patron and all. Good luck for the future.'  
'Yeah, try to find someone more reputable to work for next time!' added Imoen with a grin that Garrick returned.  
'Well, I'll try, but I guess I love the company of my fellow bards too much to make you a promise,' he laughed, ruffling Fritha's hair in a friendly manner. 'Are you sure you won't join me? With your skills and my looks we'd have our pick of the troupes!'  
He laughed again, not noticing her horrified expression.

'She's a bard?' mouthed Khalid with disbelief.  
He and Jaheira shared a look.  
'Farewell, friends,' Garrick called over his shoulder, ignoring their exchange and disappearing through the doors.  
Three heads turned in unison to a now scarlet Fritha. She quickly muttered something about 'being tired' and raced off upstairs.

Jaheira and Khalid turned simultaneously to Imoen with inquiring eyes.  
'She's a bard?' Khalid repeated, still stunned, 'b-but she…I mean, I thought she would…er...well...bards aren't usually so… r-reticent about it, that's all.'  
Imoen grinned.  
'Well, that's Fritha, Faerûn's only shy bard.'  
'Hmph. I for one think it's a good thing. She would be unbearable if she were anymore extrovert!' said Jaheira, though her tone suggested it was more a statement of fact than her opinion.  
But then they were the same thing if you were Jaheira, mused Imoen, her lips twitching.

'So she has never performed for anyone, then?' Khalid questioned, clearly still having trouble believing Fritha could be shy about _anything_.  
'Well, for Archmage Jesseth once, but I don't think that counted.'

xxx

Imoen walked past row after row of books muttering to herself.  
'_Oh, Imoen, just go up to the south library and fetch me a couple of volumes_. Stupid Whelan!'  
She glanced down to the scrap of paper she was holding.  
'Right. The Time of Troubles, prophecies concerning. Where are we?'  
She walked slowly down the aisle her fingers skimming the spines.  
'No… must be round the other side. Oh!'

Imoen rounded the bookcase and was met by an unusual sight. Sat at one the library's tables, her head pillowed on a huge tome was Fritha. From the unlit stump of candle resting next to her she could tell the girl had been there at least before dawn and Imoen was shocked at how worn she looked. She barely saw her friend since she had started her classes but the girl didn't usually have to resort to studying all night.

'Gods, Fritha, you look awful.'  
Fritha groaned, glancing up slightly from the open book, the page sticking to her face where she'd drooled in her sleep.  
'Imoen?'  
Imoen grinned as her friend freed the paper, briskly rubbing her face.  
'What time is it?'  
'Just before the morning bell.'  
Fritha heaved a deep sigh before slamming the book shut and rising.  
'Thanks for waking me,' she mumbled, grabbing her bag and heading towards the south tower. Suddenly something dawned on Imoen.

'Hey, wait, your room isn't that way.'  
Fritha turned back with a look of scorn, but it couldn't last long in the face of Imoen's concern and after a moment, she sighed and shook her head.  
'I know. Jesseth is holding some extra lectures since the novices from the temple of Gond are here. Told me yesterday, after class. He thinks it would be _beneficial_ for me to attend.'  
Imoen turned over the book.  
_"Magical devices and their origins"_ was stamped on the leather cover in worn gold letters.  
'You think he's setting you up,' said Imoen flatly.  
Fritha gave a weary shrug.  
'Oh, who knows with Jesseth. I just don't want to be made a fool of in front of the others. Look, I've got to go. See you around, okay?'  
And with that, she turned and left.

It was with a growing sense of trepidation that Fritha climbed the stairs of the south tower. Her classes were usually held in one of the small rooms in the second floor library and the unfamiliarity of this place did nothing to calm her nerves. Finally she reached the door, pushing it open to find herself in a large circular room, a blackboard, lectern and desk at one side while tiered seating and desks rose around it, putting her in mind of an amphitheatre, and Fritha wondered whether anyone would be fed to the lions today.

A few of the novices had already arrived and were huddled in a group before the desk chattering amongst themselves. They turned to stare at her as she passed, her loose mismatched clothing a stark difference from the crisp neat uniforms they were wearing. Fritha sighed, feeling more out of place by the moment and she skipped up the steps stopping about halfway up and moving along the row to sit by a window. She ignored the hushed talking and the feelings of self-consciousness that were rising within her and busied herself setting out parchment and quills, the room slowly filling around her as more novices arrived, and finally Jesseth appeared wearing his finest green robes and a very smug expression.

Fritha disliked Jesseth and although it had nothing to do with his appearance, she saw him as a prime example of people aging into the faces they deserve. His skin was stretched tightly over his skull; the web of lines that covered its surface put Fritha in mind of dragon hide. The only slackness was in the wattle that hung from chin to neck making it look like some had grabbed a handful of neck skin and pulled. Lank grey hair hung in a crest around the bald dome of his head and large wide set eyes scanned the room, resting on her for only the briefest moment before returning to his notes.

'Good morning, young ones, I am Archmage Jesseth, and I am here to lecture you today on the history and origins of magical devices.'

A short applause followed this statement through which Fritha believed she witnessed the impossible as Jesseth looked even more self-satisfied.  
The lecture began.

Fritha thought she would have probably found it quite interesting had she not spent all night in the library researching the subject under the belief that Jesseth intended to use this opportunity to punish her. Still, live and learn.  
The minutes ticked into hours and the sun rose higher, warming the room, giving it an almost cosy feeling. Fritha yawned, leaning forward, cupping her face in her hands and trying to focus on the wand Jesseth was showing them.  
'Now as you can see, though a charm is required, the assembly of such items is an art in itse…'

'FRITHA!'

Fritha slowly opened her eyes and found herself lying on paper for the second time that morning.  
_CRACK  
_Her scream echoed round the room and she sprang upright as Jesseth's staff was slammed down onto her hand. Jesseth was stood at her side, his lizard-like features contorted into an expression of pure rage.  
'You!' he breathed, his face a horrible mix of red and puce.  
'Jesseth, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I never meant to fall asleep it's just-'  
'Silence!' he roared, dragging her to her feet and down to the front, her bag trailing from her hand.

'Falling asleep in class,' he hissed almost as thought such a crime could not be spoken of out loud, 'your apologies are no longer enough.'  
'What do you mean _no longer_ enough?' Fritha burst out, her temper finally getting the better of her, 'this is the first time it's happened!'  
'You insolent brat!' he shrieked, giving her a shake for good measure, 'get out! Get out! GET OUT!'  
And with that, he hurled her through the door and slammed it behind her.

xxx

The refectory was always quiet that time of day. Light streamed in from the high windows and the only sound was from one of the cooks marching in and out of the kitchens bringing through great cauldrons of stew. Imoen reached for the one that had just been placed on her table, filled her bowl and slowly began her lunch.

She was so lost in her own thoughts, sat enjoying the peace before the midday rush, that she nearly choked when a familiar bag suddenly landed on the table next to her with a resounding thud. She looked round to see Fritha pull out a chair and throw herself into it, her face like thunder.

'Fritha, what happened? Shouldn't you still be in class?'  
'No! That saurian bastard threw me out for falling a sleep!' she fumed, serving herself some stew with such violence that most of it ended up splattered across the table, 'look at my hand!'  
Imoen winced. A thick welt ran diagonally across the back of her hand and one of the knuckles was split; he must have really hit her.

'What are you going to do?'  
Fritha narrowed her eyes slightly for a moment and Imoen almost felt quite sorry for Jesseth.  
'I'm going to apologise.'  
'What? How?'  
Fritha grinned malevolently.  
'Well, they do say nothing touches the heart like a song.'

xxx

Fritha was sat in her usual spot in the chair before Gorion's desk, tiredly picking her nails. Behind her stood Jesseth _and_ Whelan, who, having been the first on the scene when she'd clambered out the haystack, had obviously not wanted to miss a chance to see her punished and, once Jesseth arrived, he'd insisted on accompanying them to Gorion. She winced slightly, rubbing the ache in her shoulder. For an old man, Jesseth was a bloody good shot. He'd managed to get that bookend all the way from his room to her position on the battlements in practically pitch darkness; she doubted even Imoen could have hit her!  
And it had been a good job she'd picked that area above the stables or she'd have a lot worse than a bruised shoulder right now.

Fritha smiled in spite of herself, recalling the look on his face when he'd finally appeared at his window on her third chorus of 'Jesseth the Happy Iguana'; a song of her own invention and one she was quite proud of. His wispy grey hair standing out at odd angles and eyes even wider than usual, he'd looked as though he'd been electrocuted.

Still, however late it was and however annoying her song had been, Jesseth should really learn to control his temper; advice that had only seemed to rile him further at the time.  
The First Reader should really look into starting an anger management group for some of the sages; maybe Whelan could join too…

Gorion, dressed with his robes thrown over his nightshirt, sat on the other side of his desk surveying them all with an air of polite interest.

'Now Jesseth, if you would like to explain why you required my presence here at this, ah…unsociable hour.'  
'Happily,' he replied in a strained sort of way, glaring at Fritha. 'I was presenting my first of three lectures today for the novices of Gond, ones which I _generously_ invited your ward to attend-'  
'He didn't invite me!' Fritha burst out indignantly, 'He implied I _had_ to-'  
'Silence!' shouted Whelan, cuffing her round the ear.

'Fritha, please let the Archmage finish. We will hear what you have to say in a moment,' said Gorion calmly, sending Whelan a dark look, 'Jesseth, please continue.'  
'Well, as I was saying, Fritha came to my lecture, but she had no desire to pay attention. Gods forbid she may actually learn something. No, the only reason she attended was to make a fool of me…'  
Fritha smiled ruefully to herself. She couldn't help but be amused at the irony of the fact that she had believed Jesseth had invited her along only to make a fool of her and here he was worrying about exactly the same thing.

'…halfway through the class, I asked her to open a window only to find she had fallen asleep!'  
'Ah,' said Gorion knowingly, turning to Fritha his eyes stern. 'And what did you do, Fritha?'  
'Well, I apologised.'  
This seemed to take Gorion by surprise.  
'Oh?'  
'Yes, I apologised even though he'd just hit me!' she said showing Gorion the angry black line across her hand, 'it could have broken my fingers!'  
Jesseth and Whelan shared a look that seemed to indicated that they were only sorry it hadn't.  
Gorion turned back to the men gravely.

'Have you anything else to add?'  
'Yes, yes, most definitely!' said Jesseth all in a rush, seemingly worried that so far his case may not look so reasonable.  
'In her anger, she played loudly outside my window tonight in an effort to disturb my sleep and wake me.'  
'And wake you…' repeated Gorion doubtfully.  
'Ah yes, it may seem petty, but for one as spiteful as that little-' a look from Gorion stopped him, 'ah, Fritha… Well, it is all her feeble mind could conceive,' he finished snidely.  
'It was tit for tat. He woke me up so I woke him!'  
'Tit for tat? TIT FOR TAT?' he shouted, spittle flecking his whiskers, 'you ruined my chance! My only chance to become a Chosen of Mystra!'

'What?' the three chorused as Jesseth shook with rage, his face slowly taking on the colour Fritha would later describe as 'boiled baby'.  
'She came to me as I was sleeping and told me I was to be one of Her Chosen!'  
Even Whelan looked a touch embarrassed by this turn of events.  
'What? By way of a dream?' Fritha interjected sceptically, before shrugging in acceptance. 'Bad luck, Jesseth, even _Elminster_ got a shag out of it.'

This comment had the dual effect of turning Jesseth an even darker shade of red and earning Fritha another cuff round the ear from Father Whelan. Gorion seemed the only one who remained unaffected. In fact, if anything, Fritha thought he seemed vaguely amused by the whole affair.  
'Fritha, please apologise for your actions,' Gorion asked evenly.

Fritha opened her mouth, ready to complain that she had already apologised _several_ times, but at the look on his face, shut it again without a sound. Fritha lowered her eyes and continued wearily.

'Archmage Jesseth, I apologise. I am sorry for falling asleep in class, I am sorry for deliberately waking you and I am sorry you have missed your chance to become one of Mystra's Chosen,' though she sounded a little more sceptical towards the end of her speech.  
Gorion nodded his head, satisfied.  
'Fine, Fritha, you may go.'

Fritha rose, hurrying through the door, clearly wanting to be well away from the room when Jesseth finally stopped silently shaking, his rage beyond words.

'Is that _it_?' he finally gasped, his eyes bloodshot and bulging, making him look even more lizard-like. Gorion sighed, knowing where this would lead.  
'Jesseth, please calm yourself. Fritha is but a child, and no real harm was done.'  
'NO REAL HARM? Well, this is the last straw! If you are unwilling to discipline the girl properly then I am forced to take up the matter of her residence here with the First Reader! Goodnight!'  
Gorion sighed again, rubbing his temples in an effort to forestall the inevitable headache. When he looked up Whelan was still before him, watching him with grave eyes.

'I suppose you also believe she should be sent from here?'  
The priest remained silent a moment before slowly shaking his head.  
'I know what she is as well as you. She must remain here that she can be observed, kept in check.'  
'You think she is evil,' said Gorion flatly.  
'No, but we cannot deny that what she houses _is_. You give her freedom when she _needs_ discipline. She must be kept in line or lost to the forces of evil and chaos forever!'  
'Is that so? And what evidence do you have for this?'  
'E-evidence?' Whelan repeated with venom, as though angry that _his_ opinion should not be held as fact. 'It shows in her lack of respect, her unruly behaviour, the way she speaks of Helm! All these things are indicators to her complete lack of morals!'

'I'm sure Helm is big enough to look after himself. And as for her 'lack of morals', the priests of Oghma have nothing but praise for her. She's always over there helping out, asking questions.'  
'Do not mistake me, Gorion,' he snarled angrily, 'the pursuit of knowledge is to be commended, but it is how this knowledge is being _applied_ that we should be wary of. You teach her to sing and she torments poor Jesseth-'  
'Really!'  
'You teach her to use a sword…'  
'That is enough!' Gorion roared, finally loosing his temper, 'I fear we will never agree on this subject, Whelan. Where I see a young girl, you are determined to see a monster!'  
Whelan stared at him in silence a moment before giving a curt nod and finally turning to leave.

'Your closeness to the girl clouds your judgement, but do not forget what she is, or it may well be your undoing.'


	5. Nashkel

**Disclaimer: **I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein.  
Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points.  
Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

Blackcross & Taylor

**Nashkel**

Imoen readjusted her pack, skidding slightly on the stony path as she did so. They had left Beregost early that morning, continuing their journey south. It was mid-afternoon now and, according to Khalid, Nashkel was just over the next hill.

Imoen smiled; her pack was heavier, her feet sorer, the weather more humid and dark clouds were gathering on the horizon… and this was the best day they'd had together so far. Everyone's mood seemed so much lighter today and Imoen suspected it had something to do with the fact that, care of Silke, their coin purses were all a bit heavier. Khalid and Jaheira were up ahead chatting amiably about adventures past, the most relaxed she'd ever seen them and Fritha was walking next to her, gazing up at the trees, lost in a world of her own.

That morning it seemed as though Fritha could remember nothing of the night before until Jaheira began talking _at length_ about how she'd always liked a tune while she walked. Imoen couldn't help but be amused. The poor girl had blushed to her roots, mumbled something about not being that sort of bard and suddenly taken a great interest in her fingernails until the subject was changed.

Imoen looked to her friend walking next to her. Fritha had gone back to the market as soon as the sun had risen, enticed by the many things she had seen the day before but couldn't afford. She had shown Imoen her treasures as soon as she'd returned to the inn; two thick wooden hair pins, one intricately carved, the other inlayed with mother of pearl. She was wearing her hair up now and Imoen marvelled at how much older she looked; the mass of frizzy tresses tumbling down from the pins at her crown, a few stray curls softening her face.

'Hey look!' she suddenly exclaimed and Imoen turned to look down on the village of Nashkel huddled at the foot of the hill, boarded on all sides by thick woodland.

The walk down into Nashkel seemed to take no time at all, everyone spurred on by the thought they would soon be at their journey's end. Fritha paused a moment on the bridge into the village, hanging over the side to try and catch a glimpse of fish before hurrying after the others.

A small inn was the first building to come to in the village and while Khalid and Jaheira discussed their meeting with Berrun Ghasthill, Fritha decided to make herself useful.  
'Shall I go and see about getting us rooms?'

The others nodded their agreement and Fritha crossed the path and entered the inn. Inside it seemed even smaller, the tiny dirty windows allowing only enough light to emphasise the shadows. Just a bar and a few tables in one half with a hallway leading to what Fritha assumed were the guestrooms. She was about to find the innkeep when a voice called out from the gloom behind her.  
'Just fancy my luck seeing you stroll in here as bold as day!'

Fritha turned to see a short heavy-set woman with a blonde shoulder-length hair stood before her, a shield slung across her back and a mace held ready in her hands.

'Now ladies, please,' began the landlord, 'let's take it out-'  
A look silenced him.  
'I expected a hunt and a chase from the description,' the bounty hunter continued genially, 'but who am I to argue with easy coins in the purse.'  
She smiled and hefted the mace expressively. Fritha knew what was coming next. 'May the Lord of Shadows guide you swiftly to your gra-'

'Wait!' Fritha shouted, stalling for time, 'I would first know my attacker.'The woman eyed her a moment and Fritha shrugged mentally; she may as well find out who wanted her dead.  
'Who I am is unimportant, though my name is Neria. What I am is a hunter of bounties and on your head is a lovely little sum.'  
The woman smiled again.  
'Does this satisfy you?'  
'No,' said Fritha crossly. It was bad enough she intended to kill her without making fun of her first.  
'I thought it wouldn't. No matter.'

And suddenly the woman lunged at her.  
Fritha cried out, dodging to the side and watching as the blow took a chunk from the table she'd been in front of. She drew her sword just in time to parry the next blow that was aimed at her and countered with a vicious kick to the shin. Neria stumbled slightly and it was just the chance she needed.  
Fritha pulled back her sword and bolted for the door.  
'Seems you'll get your chase after all!'

The three looked up as Fritha burst from the inn with a cry of 'bounty hunter', running back towards them. Khalid had loosed an arrow before Fritha had even reached them and Imoen couldn't help but be amazed at the speed of his reactions. A loud curse from the doorway showed it had found its target and a second later a blond woman appeared, arrow in her shoulder. Without further hesitation, she charged at them, her large shield making further arrows useless. Khalid and the two women drew their weapons and went out to meet her, Imoen hanging back, unable to get a clear shot with her friends so close.

The woman was fast though and highly skilled, even with three of them facing her she was managing to stand her ground. Khalid, sword and shield in hand, was best equipped to fight in close and he and the woman traded blows while Jaheira and Fritha stood back slightly on either side, hampering her movements where they could.

Suddenly she twisted, feigning with her shield and, catching Khalid on the back foot, swung out with her mace hitting him full-force in the chest. He flew back a few feet, unconscious as he hit the ground. Imoen gasped, rushing to his side. She couldn't see any damage through the mail he wore but blood was blossoming from his mouth.

'Jaheira, 'she cried, panicked, 'Jaheira, he's bleeding really badly!'  
The two women were circling the bounty hunter now, wary, and Imoen could see her smirk behind her shield. A torn look crossed Jaheira's face and for a moment silence reigned until,

'Go, Jaheira,' said Fritha firmly, her eyes not leaving the assassin for a second. Jaheira backed off slowly before rushing over to her husband, throwing herself down beside him and beginning to check his torso.

Imoen looked up to where Fritha and the woman were still circling. The assassin was grinning, clearly believing that the hard part was over with and Fritha, looked uncharacteristically focused, her eyes narrowed in complete concentration.

Suddenly the woman stepped forward with a yell, her shielded side facing Fritha, viciously swinging the mace down at her. Imoen cried out, expecting to see Fritha leap back to defend herself but instead the girl stepped forward too and Imoen held her breath as she watched Fritha, her sword held in both hands, parry the blow, the momentum forcing the woman to twist round, her shield now useless behind her. Time seemed to slow and Imoen was sure she caught the look of horrified surprise flit across her face as Fritha flung back her right hand for balance, leaving her left free to drive her blade into her unprotected armpit. The woman gave a choked cry, collapsing as soon as the sword was withdrawn.

Fritha too seemed to shudder, stumbling back a few paces to lean against the wall of the inn, breathing heavily, Imoen running over to her.  
'Fritha, a-are you okay?' she gasped, almost unable to believe what she had just witnessed, 'that…that was amazing! The way you changed hands like that and… wow.'  
Fritha just grinned, heaving a relieved sigh as though she too couldn't believe it had worked.  
At the other side of the path, Jaheira was helping Khalid up and together they crossed over to the girls.

'You managed it, then,' said Jaheira with a glance to the body lying a few feet away, the slight tremor in her voice belying her nonchalant words.  
Fritha grinned  
'Looks like. But I hope these bounty hunters give up soon, I don't think my heart could take doing that every day,' she said with a laugh, pretending to swoon. Jaheira frowned, annoyed at either her own concern or Fritha's lack of it.  
'Can you take nothing seriously?'  
Her friend seemed to ponder this a moment before shaking her head brightly.  
Jaheira snorted her frustration and stalked past them in to the inn, Khalid following at a much slower pace, giving a nod to her and Fritha as he passed.

Fritha just shrugged and smiled at her, slowly crouching down to search the body and Imoen decided to follow Jaheira and Khalid, Fritha joining them a few moments later.

'Did you find anything?' asked Jaheira brusquely, clearly unwilling to forgive Fritha her buoyancy so soon. Fritha tossed her a small coin purse and the druid sat and began to busy herself, apparently ignoring them in favour of counting its contents.  
Fritha sighed as she read the bounty notice.  
'Six hundred and eighty gold pieces now,' she said, shaking her head, 'If this gets any higher, I won't need to worry about bounty hunters, Jaheira will be turning me in!'  
Jaheira was still pretending to ignore them, but at this, Imoen was sure she saw her lips twitch.

'R-right,' said Khalid, returning from the bar, 'our rooms are arranged f-for the night and I have paid for the table.'  
Well, that was hardly _our_ fault' Imoen said to Fritha with a grin but Jaheira cut her off before she could reply.  
'Good,' she said, scooping the coins into her own purse and rising, 'We should go and meet the mayor at once, there is much we must discuss.'  
And with that, she left the inn, the rest of the group trailing after her.

Outside the clouds that had seemed so far off earlier had moved in, darkening the sky to a dusky violet and rain looked imminent.  
Fritha followed Jaheira and Khalid as they walked down the main, and what looked to be, only street of Nashkel, Imoen lagging behind them. The buildings could not have been more different from the ones she'd seen in Beregost. White wash peeling off the walls, windows left broken and gardens untended, they held the look of fine homes that had quite recently fallen into disrepair, as though poverty had not always been the way here.

Up ahead Khalid and Jaheira had stopped to talk to a man whose demeanour gave him away as someone of importance. Fritha turned and called to Imoen before hurrying over to join the three.

'Ah, Khalid, Jaheira, I am happy to welcome you. And who are these two that travel with you?' said the man Fritha took to be Berrun Ghasthill and Fritha found all three heads turn to her and the still panting Imoen.

Jaheira narrowed her eyes slightly.  
'Ah, just the young wards of an old friend, pay them no mind.'  
Berrun shrugged turning back to the two adults and it was all Fritha could do to drag Imoen away before she said something they'd _all _regret.

xxx

'I just can't _believe_ her! She's just so, so _rude_!' Imoen raged as they continued their journey down the street. Fritha had hoped a trip the local temple would distract her but, apart from lowering her voice and laying off some of the more colourful language, Imoen had not been deterred and was still ranting over ten minutes later.  
'I think Jaheira just sees it as being-'

Fritha would have actually had a bit of difficulty finding a nice way of describing Jaheira's attitude but she was saved the trouble. As soon as she began the sentence, Imoen gave her a look that suggested that trying to excuse the druid's behaviour would _not_ go down well and Fritha decided to change tack.

'Well, if you look at it another way, she actually saved us,' said Fritha, with a sly glance to ensure this was not having the same effect as the previous statement. 'They would have only been discussing the situation at the mines and we know about most of that from those two already. Iron tainted, workers going missing, mine soon to close.'  
Thankfully, this did seem to calm her slightly and they whiled away the next few minutes speculating as to who or what was behind it, their theories getting increasingly farfetched and silly as the conversation wore on.

'Right, right,' said Imoen, calming herself down after the last bout of laughter, 'the person actually behind the iron crisis is none other than… the First Reader!'  
Fritha snorted her amusement as Imoen continued enthusiastically.  
'No, listen. He's poisoning the iron so that Baldur's Gate and Amn will go to war and under this cover he can send covert stealth operatives-'  
Fritha laughed as the image of Whelan and Jesseth sneaking around in black hose rose in her mind.  
'-to the Gate and Athkatla to loot libraries and private collections making him High Overlord of All Knowledge and thereby Ruler of the Sword Coast!' Imoen finished, shaking her fists and laughing like a crazed megalomaniac.

Laughter pealed out again and the girls were so caught up in their game they didn't notice the man until Fritha had walked straight into him. She looked up to see a portly round-faced man, a sheen of sweat glistening on his bald head.  
'Oh, sorry!' she said, taking a step back and making to walk round him.  
The man, though, seemed not to have heard her and was looking at her with a mixture of surprise and awe.  
'Are you oka-'  
'No, say not another word,' the man gasped giving a nervous little half-bow that made Imoen stifle a laugh, 'I would not think of making you wait for your just reward.'

The girls shared a look.

'When I heard that the council had hired Greywolf to rid the woods of the bandit Tonquin, I knew we could expect quick justice. And here you are! Who else could it be, striding in to town looking…' the man paused, obviously deciding on the best way to climb out of the hole he'd just dug, 'ah, looking as you do. Please accept these two hundred gold pieces and the heartfelt thanks of Nashkel.'

'I don't know who you think I am, but my name certainly isn't "Greywolf"!' Fritha answered, ignoring Imoen's sharp elbow to her ribs.

The man mouthed silently a moment putting Fritha in mind of a landed fish before finally managing to stammer, 'you…you are not Greywolf the bounty hunter? Oh, sweet Helm, I almost gave two hundred gold pieces away to a complete stranger!'  
He grabbed both of her hands, shaking them heartily.  
'Thanks be for your honesty stranger, there are those that would not have done as such.'

Fritha shrugged, fighting the desire to wipe the sweat from her hands until the man had disappeared into the barracks. Imoen was not so easy to ignore though and the girl, probably still secretly riled from before, bemoaned her lack of 'enterprise' until they stopped again a few moments later.

Fritha, desperately sick of listening to Imoen's admonishments found a glad distraction in the form of a bald warrior stood at the end of the road. To say he was large was something of an understatement. He stood about six feet tall but heavily built, his massive chest wrapped in heavy leather armour, a huge broad sword just visible under the green woollen cloak that fell to his knees. She quickly pointed him out to her and the two girls spent the next few moments staring at the man who appeared to be alternately watching them and talking to something in his hand.  
'Come on,' said Fritha her curiosity finally getting the better of her and slowly they approached.

'I agree Boo, they look to be friendly,' said the man with a nod to his hand and Fritha choked back a cry as she saw just what he was talking to.  
Perched in the man's enormous hand was a tiny brown hamster.  
'We are Minsc and Boo,' he continued, his voice thick with accent, apparently oblivious to their looks of surprise, 'we have travelled far to explore this land, but now my charge Dynaheir has been taken from us by filthy gnolls. Accompany us in this rescue and the bards shall sing of the deeds of Minsc and Boo and, er, friends.'  
'Where has she been taken?'  
'To a fortress in the west and once we have tracked them there I will beat sense into their heads until they release her,' he bellowed, and Fritha felt sincerely sorry for any gnolls in the vicinity.

Fritha turned to Imoen with a questioning look, but the girl just shrugged before turning back to Minsc.  
'Are you speaking to a rodent?' asked Imoen loudly, ignoring Fritha's attempts to shush her.  
'Boo is my faithful animal companion and more the he seems.'  
Imoen turned back to her, none the wiser for this explanation.  
Fritha shrugged.  
'Ah, what the hell, welcome aboard Minsc.'

Minsc beamed down at them, his dark eyes shining.  
'Take heart adventurers for you have curried the favour of Boo, the only miniature space hamster in the Realms! My friend and companion since my head wound, he will lead us to victory.'  
Fritha smiled at his enthusiasm; he was clearly a bit strange, but he radiated a loud amiability that she found warming. She explained their own mission as the group walked back to the inn, to which he readily pledged his sword, once he'd talked it over with Boo, of course.

'I can't _wait_ to see Jaheira's face when you turn up with these two,' whispered Imoen, her eyes shining with malevolent glee as Minsc walked ahead of them chattering happily with his hamster.  
'Are you joking?' said Fritha incredulously, 'Look at the size of him! You'd be an idiot not to want him fighting with us. Besides, I think he's really nice.'  
Imoen just snorted though.  
'Maybe, but I don't think _she's_ going to see it like that.'

xxx

Imoen was right.

Jaheira, to her credit, did manage to remain calm all the way though Fritha's explanation as to why their four had suddenly become five-

'Six,' Imoen had exclaimed unhelpfully, pointing to the little brown hamster that was sat on bar stuffing its cheek pouches with sunflower seeds.  
'Yes, ah, quite,' Fritha had conceded, before continuing quickly, 'but Minsc's ward has been captured by gnolls-'  
'And Minsc and Boo will make them pay!' Minsc had roared enthusiastically making the innkeep drop a glass in fright.

At this point Fritha had, somewhat belatedly, realised that the bar wasn't the best place for this discussion and had wisely ushered Jaheira and Khalid into the hallway of the guest quarters where they could talk alone.

Here she had explained quickly, to the still silent Jaheira, her reasons for accepting the quest along with its attachment of eccentric extras, citing 'the desire to do the Right Thing,' 'the opportunity to find out more about the increased bandit activity in the area' and 'the possibility of getting a mage to travel with them'.  
In fact, by the end of it, she had got the impression that if it hadn't been for Minsc, Jaheira would have been more than happy with the whole thing.

Fritha now stood waiting in patient silence as Jaheira's eyes bored into her, before at last she answered, each word clipped to the quick.  
'I see. Very well then, we shall go. Khalid, a word if you please.'  
Khalid seemed to wince before turning to follow his uncharacteristically calm wife into their room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He really need not have not have bothered though, thought Fritha, Jaheira's voice drifting after her as she returned to the bar.  
'AM I TO BE _SURROUNDED_ BY FOOLS?'

xxx

Khalid looked west across the river, past the few farmers that scattered the sodden fields, to the forest they would soon be entering. The rain of the previous night had left everything with a bright clean feeling, the sunlight from behind making him squint against the glare thrown up from the rushing water. It was still early and no one passed them as they stood outside the inn waiting for the group to gather. Jaheira was next to him, the occasional sigh of impatience her only utterance and Imoen was leant against the bridge post yawning widely. He heard the creak of a door and turn to see Fritha ambling across to them looking tired as well, her hair loose and shining copper in the morning sun.

'Lo,' she yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, 'everyone here?'  
'We are still waiting on _Minsc_,' said Jaheira acidly, every syllable indicating her irritation that there was a Minsc to wait for.  
Fritha looked as though she wished she'd stayed in bed, but just shrugged and turned to Imoen.  
'Hey, you tired too?'

But, on the contrary, Imoen no longer looked sleepy at all. Her eyes were wide and alert and she was staring at her friend as though she'd never seen her before.  
'Your hair?' she breathed.  
'What?' Fritha snapped a little too quickly and Khalid turned to look again, Imoen's words mirroring his thoughts.  
'It's different.'  
This was something of an understatement. Gone was the frizzy mane of ringlets that was only ever one comb away from, what Fritha had affectionately dubbed, 'orange candyfloss'. Smooth curls now tumbled over her narrow shoulders with the sort of well-groomed wildness that any barbarian heroine would be proud of.

'No it isn't,' Fritha mumbled, nervously readjusting the neckline at her shoulders, trying and failing to look dismissive.  
'Yes it is! You've done something to it.'  
'_Imoen_,' she hissed, the colour rising in her cheeks.  
But Imoen was undeterred.  
'_That_'s why you went to so bed early!' she exclaimed with triumph.  
Fritha said nothing. She looked highly embarrassed at all the attention her hair was suddenly getting and began furiously pinning it back, clearly angry with herself.

Khalid felt his heart go out to her. Unlike him, Fritha was at ease in most social situations, but she seemed to be at that age where her appearance was a centre of unsureness for her. Mention anything about her looks or barding and she suffered bouts of shyness that were as crippling as his stutter.  
'Wasting her time and money on such frivolities,' his wife muttered audibly at his side and, if possible, the girl looked even more ashamed.  
Khalid's remonstration was on his lips before he could even think.  
'Well, I think it looks very nice,' he said in a fatherly tone, proud to have kept his voice steady, 'seems a shame to pin it back.'

Everyone turned to stare at him, Jaheira looking positively livid, and he was struck by the feeling that only Fritha and himself realised the sacrifice he had just made. She smiled at him; a gentle smile that made her seem suddenly older.  
'Oi Minsc!'  
The huge ranger had just appeared in the doorway and Imoen was beckoning him across enthusiastically, her friend's new styling secrets apparently forgotten.  
'By Silvanus, Imoen, he is not blind!' snapped Jaheira as he strolled across, beaming all the while.  
'Right. Everyone ready?' she continued brusquely, as soon as he was in earshot, and without waiting for a reply she stepped on to the bridge and the party set off westward.

xxx

Khalid paused a moment mid-step, wincing slightly as another wave of heat rose up from his new boots to sweep over him. Donated by a grateful noble who they'd saved from ursine-death, he was now considering whether they weren't a carefully disguised torture device he'd cunningly offloaded on to them as thanks.  
Fritha's image came floating back to mind, stood near the carcass of the freshly slain bear, turning the boots over and over, examining them from every angle.

'Hmm, good strong boots, heavy leather soles with cured winter wolf pelt uppers.'  
She had flipped the boots over, parting the fur just inside the cuff to find a small rune stitched there.  
'Ooo, and there's an enchantment on them. Should protect you from the cold.' She had said, smiling as she'd handed them to him.  
Khalid had been very flustered by this but as she had pointed out, they were too large for most of them,  
'And nowhere near big enough for you, eh Minsc,' she had said, clapping the ranger on the back with a laugh they had both shared.

Indeed Fritha had seemed fine enough back then, but he should have noticed something was bothering her. He glanced ahead to the two girls walking before him; their voices low but still audible, if you paid attention.

'But why 'chap'? He could have used 'girl', 'maid', even 'wench' would have been okay, but '_chap_'.'  
He heard Imoen sigh wearily.  
'Fritha, stop worrying. You saw how he was about that bear, he was probably delirious with fear.'  
'Yes, well…' Fritha conceded, her hand plucking nervously at her neckline before,  
'Are you sure I don't look like a boy?'  
'For the last time, YES!

Khalid smiled. Ah, the worries of youth.  
But his thoughts could not be diverted for long until the unpleasant squelch of his toes in damp socks brought him plunging back to reality. Protection from cold was right; his feet were sweltering!  
He never should have put the boots on straight away but it the way Fritha had described them, with such skill and enthusiasm, he felt almost swept along with it, as though he was a child again, desperate to try out a new toy.

Khalid sighed in defeat as they passed a likely looking clearing. It was nearly sundown so they weren't really losing _that _much travelling time.  
'Er, this looks like a g-good place to stop?'  
Jaheira looked like she would have said differently, but before she could even speak Imoen had shouted 'Yes!' at the top of her voice and flung her bag under the nearest tree. Jaheira seemed to be holding back a comment with difficulty, but after a moment's struggle, she too dropped her bag and began to unpack.

It was dusk by the time camp was set up, their small fire nothing to rival the blaze that was raging on the horizon as the sun disappeared below the rim. Khalid looked round the camp with a smile, his feet finally free from their fur-lined prison. Imoen was checking the string on her bow, Jaheira sorting what rations were left and Fritha was finally taking up the sleeves on her tunics. From halfway up the arm, of course.  
He smiled as he remembered her words to Imoen, totally unabashed.  
'Well, I don't want to hide the pattern at the cuffs, do I?'

And all were listening to Minsc's description of his homeland, the almost fabled land of Rashemen, in the Utter East.

'Ah, the snowfields of my land are vast indeed, but we have other landscapes too. Mountains tower black over the snow and in the icy waters of Lake Ashane, a great water spirit lives.'

'It sounds wonderful, Minsc,' breathed Imoen.  
'Yes, it does,' agreed Jaheira slyly, 'very inspiring. I am sure you could write page after page of epic poetry about such a place, could you not, Fritha?'  
'Jaheira!' scolded Khalid, as the girl blushed red and mumbled something about poetry not really being her thing. He truly did not understand her need to torment Fritha so. Minsc however, seemed not to have noticed this exchange and continued enthusiastically.  
'You are a bard? Ah, great news! Always there will be someone at hand to recount the glorious battles of Minsc and Boo. Will you not recite for us an ode now, of grand adventurers and glory?'  
Fritha looked mortified.

'Poetry… well, er, it's really not my area, you see.'  
'Please, young Fritha, Boo would so love to hear one,' he pleaded, thrusting a cupped hand out towards her, in which Boo was happily perched.

Fritha's resolve seemed to falter. She paused a moment, her eyes closed, before taking a deep breath and,

_There once was a Rashemi warrior  
__Whose enemies couldn't be sorrier  
__He put all to the sword  
__Between him and his ward  
__An action that made him much jollier _

Minsc roared his approval and easy laughter pealed out from the group. Fritha grinned, flushing with pleasure.  
'Good, very good,' smiled Jaheira, nodding and looking strangely pleased, 'but we really should be getting some rest.' She shifted slightly in her bedding. 'I'll take first watch, Khalid you can be next, then it can be…'

Why now? Why not the previous night in the inn? Why had this suddenly crept up on her?  
Fritha gave the fire one last vicious poke and threw the stick into it, closing her eyes and waiting for the blurred image of flames to fade from the inside of her lids.

Khalid was supposed to be on sentry now. She'd laid awake through half of Jaheira's watch before getting up and volunteering to take over and that had been about three hours ago. Still, it seemed pointless to wake him when she herself was no nearer to sleep and so she sighed and went back to musing on the thing had been haunting her since she first closed her eyes.  
Neria.  
Not so much Neria being dead, as Neria not being alive.  
And, of course, the fact it was all her fault.

It wasn't the first time she'd killed someone; that was in Candlekeep. But it _was _the first time she'd actually consciously decided to do it and the image of Neria's face kept swimming into view. Fritha sighed again, rubbing her eyes, confused by the mix of feelings churning within her. She didn't feel guilty. Fritha had very set ideas about people who wanted to kill her deserving everything they got, but it was a strange feeling, knowing that because of you one person had left the world for good.

Was a similar thing waiting for her tomorrow? The day after?

Fritha felt almost suffocated by the idea that it all been decided already, that fate was somehow controlling her every move. But was a life without fate any better? It obviously hadn't been for Neria…

How _had_ it been for her?  
Had it come down to just one choice between bounties or had every decision in Neria's existence had somehow led to this confrontation?  
Had she been one choice away from life?

She tried to imagine the woman's life but it was hopeless; the possibilities infinite. And yet her mind would not let it go.  
Where did she come from? Did she have family? Was someone, somewhere waiting for her to return?  
She was desperate to know about this woman. To know that someone out there knew her, could remember her, because, if there wasn't…  
Then it was as if she never existed.  
Fritha wouldn't have just killed her… she would have annihilated her.  
It was all her fault.

The thought of this was unbearable and frantic for anything that might ease her mind, she scrabbled in her bag finally pulling from it her diary. She tore a page from the back and the surrounding trees seem to hiss in angry protest as the breeze picked up. Then she was fumbling in her bag again for quill and ink and at last, resting on her diary as she did so, she wrote at the top of the page in large plain letters, "_NERIA_".

Her panic finally seemed to subside and she watch as the ink shone wet in the firelight before absorbing into the yellowing paper. She sat a long while just staring at the word, feeling no less burdened, but slowly more foolish as the time wore on.  
How would this make things better?  
Was she to do this every time she killed someone?  
Fritha shook her head defeatedly and continued to write.

_Bounty hunter  
__Blonde  
__Died 8th Mirtul 1368_

She wrote and wrote. Covering one side and starting the other before she'd finished. Every inconsequential detail she'd managed to glean from the time they'd spent together. She read it over once again then leant forward and, with a deep breath, promptly tossed it into the fire, watching as the page smoked and curled, crumbling away to nothing.  
But _she_ wasn't gone.  
Fritha would remember her forever.  
She would remember all of them and they would live in her.

Fritha yawned, feeling suddenly tired; it was time for bed. Gently she shook Khalid awake and moments later she was snuggled beneath her own blankets, fast asleep.


	6. Rescue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein.  
Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

For Minxie

**Rescue**

It was an hour or two after dawn when Minsc first picked up the trail of gnolls heading westwards and another hour after that when the forest finally seemed to thin away to reveal a rocky coastal outcrop. Fritha looked up, her eyes taking in the huge sandstone fortress, so similar in colour and style to the surrounding landscape that it looked as though it had been hewed there by the brackish winds.  
Instantly everyone fell silent and Fritha, the memories of the previous night still strong within her, felt her heart quicken.

The ranger led them forward, across a rotting wooden bridge and a short way up the rough path to where a primitive arch of sticks and bones stood as proof of what fate awaited unwelcome guests. Fritha paused a moment to consider the yellowing skulls, unable to keep from wondering whether perhaps one of them was Minsc's ward; that maybe in a few days some hapless traveller would wonder something similar about the five fresh skulls that adorned it.  
She shook herself, bringing her mind back to the present and following the rest of them up the narrow stony slope that skirted the fortress walls in instinctive silence.

It was quiet and as they rose she watched the sea slowly become visible above the trees. The morning was bright blustery once out the forest and the ocean was highlighted here and there with crests of white foam, mirroring the sky where clouds scudded by in a field of clear blue. She glanced up, with half a mind to check the time, and it was then she noticed the dark shapes looming over the walls above her.  
'Gnolls!' she screamed, alerting both enemies and friends as the beast began their attack and Khalid scooped her under his shield just in time as a barrage of rocks struck about them.

Minsc roared, a frightening wildness to him he charged the rest of the way to the fortress, Khalid taking just enough time to set her on her feet before pounding after him, Jaheira at their heels pulling a dazed Imoen with her. Fritha ran after them dodging the falling stones and overtaking the two women in her haste. She rounded the corner to find Minsc and Khalid already at the top of a set of crumbling stone stairs, holding back the snarling gnolls that had formed their line just inside the protection of the high walls that flanked the entrance to the courtyard. Khalid in front, his huge shield held low, was working to protect their bodies from gnolls' halberds while Minsc towered above him swinging his great sword at anything within range.

'Don't just stand there gawping!' she heard Jaheira scream behind her, 'get up there and help!'  
She glanced to Imoen and saw the same feeling of confusion reflected in her face.  
'Get on the walls!' Jaheira snapped, giving Imoen a shove forward before dropping to her knees and beginning to meditate. Realisation dawned and without a thought to either Imoen or the druid, she flew up the first couple of steps, ducking under Minsc's sword and scrambling up to stand atop the wall next to him, the battle just a chaos of heads below.

She looked across to the opposite wall. Imoen was already there, firing arrows into the horde of gnolls below them, nimbly dodging their attacks. Fritha joined her; dancing along her side of the crumbling stonework, avoiding angry halberd thrusts and attacking the gnolls beneath her where she could, while overhead, the sky darkened as the wind picked up. Suddenly, a crack sounded over the din and lightening streaked into the horde below her. She whirled around to see Jaheira still knelt at the foot of the steps, her hair a swirling cloud about her face as she called silently to the storm.

Another strike of lighting and a canine yelp pulled her attention back to the battle. The gnolls looked panicked now, and began to scatter; barking filling the air as they pushed and fought each other in their frenzied escape. A gnoll tripped, hitting the wall at her feet, dislodging bricks in a cloud of plaster. She leapt back, leaning forward as she fought to keep her balance when a clawed hand appeared from nowhere, grabbed a handful of hair and suddenly she was falling.

Everything seemed to slow. Somewhere, far away, she could hear Imoen screaming. The sour taste of ozone, the crackle of static in her hair and then she landed, her breath knocked from her as she hit the uneven cobbles. Instantly, the world sped up and she was scrambling to stand as hairy paws stampeded around her. Something grabbed the back of her tunic and a scream rose in her throat as she was hosted from the ground. She thrashed wildly at her attacker, her eyes squeezed shut, dreading to look and face her end…

'Calm, young Fritha, you are scaring Boo.'  
Slowly she opened her eyes to find her head level with the ranger's, his face split in a warm smile. He set her down gently, her knees almost buckling as he brushed dust from her shoulders. She turned to see Khalid and Jaheira just inside the walls finishing off the last couple of gnolls that hadn't the sense to escape and Imoen was already on the ground and running over to them.  
'Gods, Fritha! A-Are you okay?'  
Fritha nodded; now it seemed she was not about to die any time soon, embarrassment at what had just occurred was eager to replace her fear, and she was just hoping the subject would be dropped. Luckily for her, Jaheira was around.  
'She's fine,' the druid announced without a glance, 'it's Dynaheir we are here for. We should check the courtyard pits first and move on from there.'

Fritha nodded, her heart still hammering inside her chest; her previous feelings of fear and embarrassment swirling unpleasantly in her stomach making her slightly sick. The fortress seemed eerily quiet after the previous clamour and she moved slowly to the final pit, watching every corner for some sign of attack. Finally there, she glanced warily about her before at last turning her back and venturing a look over the side. She drew back almost immediately; the stench of rotting flesh overwhelming, but a moment's glance had been enough.  
'Here! She's down here!' she shouted, holding her cloak over her mouth and flying down the steps.

At the bottom, the woman came to meet her and it was a testament to how long she'd suffered there, in that she on longer seemed affected by the smell. She picked her way across the bodies that strewed the floor, arms outstretched in greeting, her dark skin no doubt hiding a multitude of bruises. 'I-I heard battle, I thank thee for saving me, young one,' she smiled and Fritha was struck by how regally she still carried herself even after such an ordeal. Fritha explained their situation as they climbed the steps together, the girl helping where she could, and soon both were stood under the midday sun, surrounded by friends, the great ranger almost weeping with joy at having his ward safely returned.

'T'was courageous to follow the likes of Minsc in to battle, if a touch foolish.' She said with a sidelong glance to her zealous protector, 'mayhaps I could travel with thee awhile and an opportunity may arise for repayment of mine debt.'  
The swarthy woman smiled generously, her beauty easily shining past the dirt and bruises. Fritha smiled too. The joy of being alive and finding her the same in such a hopeless place filling her.  
'We'd be glad of it.'

xxx

Fritha sat, a cup of ale warming on the table in front of her as she watched the rain pelt the grimy windows of the inn. With half a day spent recovering after the gnoll fortress, they had been hard pressed to return to Nashkel within two days. That day had been one long trek to get back to the village before nightfall, but looking out on the weather, she was very glad they had pushed themselves. A strange coldness swept over her and she turned from the window her eyes coming immediately to rest on the girl sat to her right. Imoen's was half turned away from her and her hair loose, falling slightly across her face but this was not enough to hide the look of undisguised glee which contorted her features as she watched the two women across from her. Fritha sighed, shaking her head with a rueful smile.

She couldn't believe they were at it _again_. Jaheira and Dynaheir had done nothing but goad and snipe at each other since they met two days ago. Jaheira had just carried on as usual, assuming her role of 'Head Matriarch and General Know-It-All' to use the official title Imoen had assigned her. But it had soon become apparent that Dynaheir had other ideas on how things should be done, namely with a lot less bossing her about, and from then on it had been one barely restrained argument after another. It was like watching two of Phlydia's cats fight over a spot in the sun.  
At first it had just been petty things; challenging each other over which route back to Nashkel would be best, where to camp for the night and so on. Imoen had found the whole thing hilarious and Fritha had to admit, to start with, so had she. However, tonight the stakes had been raised.

It had all started off innocently enough, Khalid and Dynaheir chatting politely about Calimport, a place, it turned out, that she had visited in her youth. Jaheira, though, had been very brusque with everyone since and you didn't need to be psychic to work out that she didn't like all the attention Dynaheir was showing to _her_ husband. Of course, this had only made the whole thing more appealing to the mage and she had continued without arrest, her behaviour growing slowly more flirtatious, as Jaheira grew steadily more annoyed.  
Fritha shook her head again.

Though her reaction was a little extreme, Fritha could understand where the druid was coming from. Dynaheir was a very attractive woman and although Jaheira was by no means ugly, she lacked the easy sensuality of the Wychlaran. Everything about Jaheira seemed a little sharp, as though she had many different emotions churning about inside her but only one way of expressing them all.  
'Like now…' thought Fritha grimly as she turned her attention back to the other end of the table where the three 'adults' were sharing a friendly drink.

'I find thy honesty…interesting, honourable men are rare.' Dynaheir purred, gazing across the table at her quarry with half-lidded eyes.  
'Ah…er…well, thank you,' Khalid stuttered, his cheeks flushing at the complement and his eyes darting nervously to the rigid woman at his arm.  
Jaheira narrowed her eyes and Fritha could see her jaw tighten.  
'You must have _known_ many to speak with such experience. '  
Dynaheir's eyes widened slightly at that, but she recovered quickly.  
'I'm not sure I understand thy meaning?' the mage said smoothly with a smile at Jaheira before returning her gaze to the man opposite, serving only to rile the druid further.  
Fritha watched the tension rise another notch and decided that the situation, however entertaining, was best diffused before it became any more than sharp _words_. She glanced over at Imoen who was still entranced, watching the women trade barbed comments with boundless enthusiasm.  
Fritha grinned.  
Now this would require perfect timing.

Imoen had just taken another swig of beer when she felt the tickle of breath at her ear and a familiar voice whisper,  
'Ten silver on Jaheira'  
It was gloriously disgusting to watch.  
Imoen, her cheeks and eyes bulging for a split second before she burst out laughing, spraying the contents of her mouth at the three of them. Already angry, both women instantly forgot their argument in favour of screaming abuse at the still giggling Imoen.  
Fritha lent back with a satisfied smile.

xxx

Khalid sat down on the bed with a tired sigh. It had been a long day and it seemed, as yet, there was still no end in sight. He eased off his boots, trying desperately to ignore his wife, who was stomping around the room ranting, punctuating every sentence by slamming something as she changed for bed.  
'I cannot _believe_ that woman! Harpy!'  
_Thwack  
_'And Imoen! Filthy wretch!'  
_Slam  
_'And as for her little cohort, Fritha, I've never met a more idiotic, indolent…'  
Khalid sighed again and tried in vain to block it out. They'd had 'discussions' like this before and they all ended the same way.

'…I cannot, no, _will not_, stand for this, this _travesty_ any longer!' She yelled, finally whirling round to face him, her face twisted with anger. 'We are seasoned veterans, _Harpers_, and yet we are spending our time babysitting three imbeciles and some Rashemi tart!'

Silence hung between them. Khalid knew this was the part where he came in. The part where he agreed wholeheartedly and offered to help her pack, but…  
He shook his head; he just _knew_ he was going to regret this.  
'You know, I don't think she's as stupid as she lets people believe.'  
'What?' Jaheira spluttered, glaring at her husband, sheer disbelief finally silencing her.  
'Fritha. I don't think she's stupid. I…er…' Khalid faltered. He hadn't really thought this through. What could he say? That he'd seen her before, noticed the calm way she'd watched the fight, the whispered words to Imoen, that it hadn't been an accident. Proof, though it would be, of Fritha's ingenuity, he doubted that Jaheira would see it like that. He looked up at his wife, her cheeks still glowing with frustrated rage, and made his decision.

'I…I just sense it that's all,' he finished weakly. Jaheira snorted her derision causing him to finally snap.  
'Look! We've come this f-far. Let us just f-finish what we set out to do. We'll investigate the m-mines and if you still want to l-leave after that then I'm with you. But until then, let's just try to g-g-get along!'  
Jaheira winced at his broken speech, guilt writhing in her stomach.  
His nerves must be shot; he was usually completely at ease when they were alone together, even when they argued.  
They finished changing in silence, and climbed in to bed, Jaheira leaning over to kiss him softly before putting out the light.

xxx

Fritha was glad to see that Jaheira's mood was much improved the next day, so much so, that she even forgot to shout at her and Imoen for dropping a bag of shot as they were hurrying to pack. Dynaheir too, seemed more subdued, her behaviour towards Khalid restored to its previous cordiality. In fact, everyone was acting with a kind of forced civility.

Imoen hadn't quite forgiven her for being made the dupe in the previous evenings antics and things seemed strained between Jaheira and Khalid as well. Indeed, the only person still on speaking terms with everyone was Minsc and, since he had constant company in Boo, the group made its way the few miles south to the mines in near silence.

She sighed quietly to herself, watching as the mines, a pale sandy scar in the green of the hillside, grew larger with every step. It was unnerving, trying to mentally prepare for another flirt with death when the party around her felt so divided. She glanced round with half a mind to chat to Minsc when Imoen caught her eye. Her friend looked more nervous than usual and Fritha wondered if she too had noticed the strangely splinted air of the party. She smiled hopefully at her and for a moment, she thought Imoen would wanly return it and turn away. The girl looked unsure of what to do, glancing ahead of her to the mines, close enough now that she could clearly see people milling about down there, the sunlight reflecting on the soldiers' armour. Imoen turned back to her and smiled, warm and genuine, and wordlessly they reconciled.

Moments later they were stood side-by-side, shingle crunching beneath their feet, in the great rocky pit that served as the entrance to the mines. Around them mining carts stood unused, miners huddled about them in small groups their low mutterings punctuated by heavy gurgling coughs. Fritha sighed unhappily; mining couldn't be a pleasant job at the best of times, without people trying to kill you and everything you managed to dig up being worthless anyway. However high the bounty on her got and however many times she found herself facing her own immanent death, it was always saddening to realise that you didn't have to look far to find people who had things a lot worse.

She looked over to where Jaheira and Khalid were talking to the owner of the mine, Emerson, a short but distinguished-looking gentleman who was dwarfed by the five Amnian soldiers who stood behind him guarding the entrance to the mine. He glanced over to where the rest of them were waiting, a doubtful look in his eyes and Fritha couldn't resist giving him a little wave while Jaheira glowered at her from over his shoulder. He turned back to the two and after a few moments more discussion, finally shook his head defeatedly and gestured for the guards the move aside. They were in.

Fritha shivered as another drip managed to find its way down the back of her tunic. It felt like they'd been down in those dank caves for days though, if she were honest, it couldn't have been more than a couple of hours. Though Emerson had been reluctant to let them enter at all, once persuaded, he was wholeheartedly behind them and had offered them maps of the mines, supplies and even a solider to escort them if they'd wished, much to the dismay of the guards with him at the time. They had refused though, accepting only the maps and together they'd entered the dim torch-lit passages of the Nashkel mines.

Once inside, a garbled conversation with a petrified miner about 'dog-headed demons', and it had become clear what they were facing.  
'Kobolds,' Minsc had confirmed gravely, rising slowly from the tracks he had been examining and looking round at the rest of them.  
Fritha hadn't been surprised by his confusion; though it was not impossible, in itself, for kobolds to have invaded the mines, for the creatures had been known to mine themselves on occasion, to infiltrate a mine and then poison the contents made no sense. Something greater had to be at work here, something they had yet to discover.

Minsc had led them onward, following the more prominent tracks deeper into the mines. Down into the second level they had travelled, then onto the third, only a few brief scuffles with small bands of kobolds breaking up the monotony of trekking down those endless passages. Finally, they too had ended and Fritha had found herself staring into the yawning black hole that signalled the end to the mines and the beginning of the caves beneath. The map was useless then; the miners never went that deep.

The party had seemed to shift places unconsciously; Jaheira and Khalid moving to take the lead, Minsc dropping back to guard the rear and the rest of them huddled together in between. At last, Khalid had taken the last torch down from the bracket at his side and slowly they took the first step into the darkness.

Now they were moving slowly about the caves, silent but for the occasional scrape of chalk against the tunnel side as Khalid marked their path. Fritha glanced back to her friend who was walking just before Minsc, constantly massaging her hands, her thin fingers twitching jerkily like nervous spiders and her heart went out to her.

Ever since they'd entered these caves, it had been one trap after another. Jaheira had taken it upon herself to travel at the head of the party, using her honed druidic senses to discover them, but whether her concerns for Imoen's safety or doubts in her ability had based her decision, she could not tell. But Imoen was the only one of them with the skills to dismantle any traps found; a lot of responsibility for the fledgling thief and Fritha had found her friend becoming more anxious with every step.

She coughed quietly, catching Imoen's eye and giving her a smile which was returned, albeit nervously. Fritha slowed her pace, waiting for her to draw level before greeting her quietly.  
'All ready to meet the First Reader, then?' she asked, rubbing her hands together with relish, 'I hope Whelan there is too. Do him some good, it would; a swift kick up his preachy- '  
'Shush!' hissed Jaheira, whirling to glower at them both while Imoen's shoulders shook with silent giggles.

Fritha smiled, glad to see her a little calmer, Imoen smiling back once she'd caught her breath and they walked on in companionable silence for a few moments more until the girl turned to her again.  
'Fritha, what are we going to do when we actually find who's behind this?'  
'Well, take them to Nashkel for trial, I suppose, and if they resist-'  
'No-' she interrupted, more loudly than she'd meant to and earning them another dark look from the druid.  
'No,' she continued quietly, once Jaheira had turned back round, 'I mean after that. When the mine's recovered and everything's, well, over.'

Fritha, stopped, amazed she hadn't even considered it.  
What _did _she plan to do? Adventuring really didn't seem to be her thing, especially since the last tenday had afforded no less than six near death experiences. But, there was still the complication of the bounty hunters. It wouldn't be safe for her to travel alone until the populous were no longer being offered money to kill her.  
Still, she had her whole life ahead of her for travel; an out of the way village and a name change could be all she needed for a fresh start…  
'Fritha?'  
Imoen was watching her, waiting for an answer.  
'I… I don't know, to be honest, I haven't really given it much thought,' she answered warily, not wanting to say either way without testing her friend's preference.  
'Me either,' she agreed, though Fritha doubted Imoen's answer was anymore truthful than hers. 'But still,' the girl ventured slowly, as though weighing every word 'it would be good if we-'  
'Imoen.'

Both girls looked up to find Jaheira facing them and Fritha peered round her to see a great stone door set in the end of the passageway, its dark surface covered in rough carvings of things she could not quite make out.  
'I said I've found another trap,' the druid repeated impatiently and Fritha followed her friend to the head of the group.  
'Down there. Do you see it?' she continued, pointing to the floor a few feet in front of them, 'a cord running across the door.'  
Her friend nodded, stepping forward to crouch down next to it, her pale fingers stroking along the top of the wire feeling its tension.  
'It's some sort of bolt trap, I think,' she said with a frown, still gently plucking at the cord, 'but the tension feels different somehow. I… I don't think I can just cut it, the sudden release would set it off.'

Imoen began scanning all about her and Fritha followed her eyes to two small openings either side of the lintel. The thief rose gracefully, leaning forward on the tips of her toes and sniffed at the closest one once before inclining her head slightly.  
'It, it smells of oil…'  
Fritha swallowed and had to stop herself moving instinctively backwards.  
An incendiary trap.  
Suddenly her heart was in her throat; these could be notoriously complicated, if this went wrong, Imoen might…

'P-Perhaps we could find another way in?' ventured Khalid slowly as though reading her thoughts, glancing about him for support.  
'This will be the only entrance,' said Imoen, her voice sounding somehow older as she stared at the door, her eyes narrowed.  
'I-Imoen-'  
'I can do this!' she interrupted, whirling to face them, 'I can!'  
Jaheira glanced about them, her eyes finally resting on Fritha. She could feel her heart fluttering in her chest, Jaheira's hazel eyes looking down at her with their silent question while Imoen's defiant gaze bored into her back.  
Finally, she nodded imperceptibly; more blink than actual movement, but the druid understood.

'All right', her voice rang out in the stillness, 'everyone move back. Imoen, when you're ready.'  
Fritha watched as she returned to a crouch, shrugging her bag onto the sandy ground next to her to draw out a hand full of wooden pegs and a small rolled pouch that she unrolled to reveal a set of gleaming tools. Slowly she shifted to the wall and eyed the place where the wire disappeared in to the rough stone, holding her middle finger as close to it as she dared before going back to her pouch and going through the pegs, comparing them to her finger until she had the right length. Fritha held her breath as Imoen reached out and with steady hands fastened the peg over the wire as close to the wall as she could get and slowly screwed it shut. She moved deliberately to the other side, and ever slowly, ever patient, repeated the process before finally sitting back on her haunches and taking up her small metal shears.

Fritha tensed, ready to lunge forward and pull her back for all the good it would do.  
Imoen raised the shears, placing the sharp blades on either side of the wire, took a deep breath and,  
_Snip _

There was silence, everyone holding their breath.  
Imoen's eyes darted left and right, checking the pegs were holding the tension even and Fritha watched as a slow grin spread across her face. All at once she was rushing forward to sweep her into a hug.  
'You did it! You did it!'  
They were both holding each other now, laughing with relief.  
'Be quiet both of you!' Jaheira snapped half-heartedly, looking positively faint.

The rest had gathered round them now and Fritha moved back, allowing the others in to congratulate her while Jaheira checked the door.  
'It does not appear to be locked,' she said with a grunt as she pulled the metal ring at its centre and the door slowly swung forward to reveal a great cavern.

Silent again, the group filed in, Fritha staring about her in wonder at the high vaulted roof, the tips of stalactites only just visible in the torchlight.  
'Careful, child,' whispered Dynaheir, putting out an arm to stop her and pointing to her feet where the rock dropped shear to a vast underground lake.  
'I-I think I've found a path across,' said Khalid ahead of them, swinging the torch low and checking where rock ended and water began,' yes, this way…'

He led them forward, across the narrow band of rock that spanned the lake and on to the ledge that skirted the other side of the cavern, before wordlessly extinguishing the torch. Ahead of them, a dim glow was streaming from an opening in the cavern wall; at signal from Jaheira, Fritha silently crept forward.  
It opened on to another smaller cave but it couldn't have been more different from the one she was stood in. Torches glowed in brackets on the rough walls while on the floor, rugs and a few cushions were strewn. A couple of heavy chests lined the walls and over the furthest was hunched a large half-orc, rooting noisily through the contents and muttering to himself all the while.  
'Not good enough, eh? Taking too long, am I? Lousy, whining…'

Silently she beckoned to the others and they slowly moved in to the chamber, Minsc putting himself determinedly in front of the entrance as the rest of them fanned out. Suddenly his muttering stopped and he whirled to face them, his murky porcine face slack with shock.  
'Who in the nine hells are you lot!' he cried, before answering his own question, albeit wrongly, 'Tazok must have dispatched you and those traitorous kobolds let you pass, didn't they?'  
Fritha opened her mouth to correct him but the orcman barrelled on regardless, his piggy eyes narrowed in loathing.  
'I knew I couldn't trust them! By Cyric, not a measure of ore leaves this mine unspoiled and I am still to be executed? I'll not lose my head over this! Followers, to me!'

A loud crack sounded and thick smoke suddenly surrounded her, hiding the others from view while a clamour of familiar barking filled the air. She heard Minsc rush forward on her right, his battle cry echoing about the small cavern and a Relantuar curse told her Jaheira had already joined the fray. Something loomed in the thinning smoke ahead of her; too tall to be a kobold, she started forward expecting a friend only to draw back in horror, bringing her blade up just in time to block the mace of the leering skeleton.

The smoke was clearing now and she dispatched the skeleton with a few well-placed sword thrusts before taking a moment to glance about the cave. Jaheira and Minsc were fighting the half-orc, trying to keep him occupied enough to prevent any more spells and Khalid had backed into a corner, keeping the creatures at bay while the two women behind him fought with bow and spell.  
She began to fight her way across to them; wading through the throng of kobolds and undead, striking at exposed flanks and undefended backs as she went. Finally, she heard a roar behind her a glanced back to see the half-orc finally fall. The skeletons before her crumbled, the few kobolds still left fleeing at the sight of their defeated leader and soon the room was empty save for the six of them and the bodies that littered the floor.

Still panting slightly, Imoen started forward to the closest chest, checking the surface for traps before lifting the lid and searching the contents, tossing them up to Fritha for redistribution. 'Cleric's ring, symbol of Cyric… Ooo, nice boots…' said Fritha, keeping up a running commentary as she passed the items out to the group. Finally, Imoen rose from the now empty chest, clutching the last item in her hands, a loose sheaf of parchment. She glanced it over before wordlessly holding it out to her.

'What is it, a scroll?'  
Imoen shook her head, looking bewildered.  
'No, a letter.'  
Fritha's eyes flew over the cramped writing, her sense of unease growing…

"My servant Mulahey, Your progress in disrupting the flow of iron ore does not go as well as it should… I will not send the kobolds you requested, I need all the troops I possess to stop the flow of ore in this region… if you have any further problems contact my new associate in Beregost, Tranzig. He'll be at Feldpost's inn Tazok" 

'This just seems to get stranger and stranger…'  
'Here, let me see,' said Jaheira from behind her, snatching the parchment smartly from her hands to read it aloud.  
The group was silent a moment, no one speaking as the gist of the letter sunk in. Fritha sighed, feeling strangely anxious. How many people _were_ involved in this seemingly profitless venture? They knew of three already,  
'Well, two…' considered her mind dully, as she glanced down at the body she now knew to be Mulahey.

'Right,' said Jaheira, her commanding tones finally breaking the silence, ' we can look here for any other clues concerning this apparent scheme to poison the areas iron supplies and then… Well, we should probably pay this,' she glanced again at the parchment, '…Tranzig a visit.'  
Murmurs of assent travelled the group and they finished searching the cave, but found little else of value; Imoen raking through the other chest while Fritha frisked the body, no one speaking much.

'Anything?' the druid questioned, glancing about them.  
'Not really,' offered Imoen with a shrug, and Jaheira seemed to deflate slightly before,  
'Right, there's no point in wasting time here, then.'  
'Khalid,' she continued, a smile softening her words.  
The fighter returned her smile as he hefted a new torch from the closest bracket and led the way back out into the darkness, the rest ambling after him. Imoen gave her a half-smile as they went, her voice low,  
'Well, it seems we could still meet First Reader after all…'

xxx

Imoen sighed, her breath coming in a little white cloud, as she took in the bare frosted landscape of the Cloud Peaks; not a particularly high mountain range but late spring or not, the air at this height was still cold and made an interesting change from the cool wet weather to be expected in the lowlands. The ground beneath her crunched pleasantly with every step as they made their way back down to Nashkel, and the thief amused herself by seeing how silently she could move over the stiff grass as they went.

All in all, it had been an enjoyable couple of days in the Cloud Peaks; a little cold but there was something warming about the sense of camaraderie the group held now, something she felt would be important once they returned to Beregost. Plus, however cold the weather, hunting winter wolves hadn't exactly been all standing about, she considered with a grin as she watched the silvery sheen dance across the wolf pelts that were swinging from the back of Minsc's pack.

Jaheira had felt funds were running low again and, according to Fritha, a merchant in the village had promised her a good price for them when she was restocking their supplies, though knowing Fritha and the girl's inadvertent charms, the man would have probably offered to buy gibberling hides if she'd asked him too.

Imoen smiled as she buried her face into the warm fragrant fur of the heavy blue cloak her friend had lent her, glancing over to where she was walking, her hair, she noted, tied firmly up as it had been ever since the gnoll fortress. The war between style and practicality, it seemed, had finally been won, though to be fair, Fritha's hair wasn't accepting this result without a fight and was currently making its seventh bid to escape that day, curls springing free from beneath the wooden pins with her every step.

'Ah,' gasped Minsc up ahead, pulling her attention from her friend just in time to stop herself from walking in to Dynaheir, 'these pelts, they are very heavy. I can still carry them, but we will need to slow our pace.'  
The ranger had dropped his pack to the frozen ground with a sigh, mopping the sweat from his head with an obliging sleeve.  
'Here, I can carry one of them,' volunteered Fritha, pulling the top pelt from under his pack's straps and slinging it over her shoulder-bag, 'anyone else?'  
'I c-could-'  
'Don't be foolish, Khalid!' interrupted his wife brusquely, 'you are already carrying your shield. I shall take one.'

'I didn't think you'd approve of killing animals, Jaheira,' Fritha questioned conversationally, turning towards the older woman once she too had secured her pelt and the party had set out again.  
'We did not take many and all were males; nature will not be adversely affected.'  
'Yeah and neither will our pockets!' Imoen added with a laugh, knowing she'd offend the druid's sensibilities and relishing the trouble of it.  
But before Jaheira could reply, a panicked voice cried out,  
'Wh-Who are you?'

She looked up to see a man, well past middle age, his beard and hair unkempt and framing a face dominated by pale wide eyes. He had stepped from the shelter of a brush-covered outcrop in the hillside to stand in their path, undaunted it seemed, by their number or size.  
'T'was that relentless Greywolf who sent you, wasn't it? Wasn't it!' he accused, brandishing a chisel at them angrily, 'I must finish her, I must!'  
'What? We've nothing to do with this Greywolf fellow, whoever he is. Who are _you_?' snapped Jaheira, turning the sharpness no doubt meant for her on the stranger, but in his relief he seemed not to notice.  
'Thank Deneir. I thought I was done in. I am not cut out for a life on the run.'

'I know who you are, I've read about you,' Fritha suddenly breathed, her eyes wide, 'you're Prism!'  
'Who?'  
'He's only one of the greatest artists of our time. You painted the ceiling of the temple of Lathander in Beregost, didn't you.'  
Imoen would never cease to be amazed the sheer volume of useless information Fritha's mind seemed to store. Some normality seemed to return to the man's eyes at this recognition and he nodded with a pleased smile.  
'Well, I've never heard of him,' Imoen muttered with a smirk, pleased to earn herself another dark look from the druid.  
'But what are you doing out here?'  
His smile widened, making him look as crazed as before and he led them round the rocky outcrop he had sprung from and parted the scrubby bushes to reveal a face carved into the very rock, two large lifeless eyes staring back at them; one as pale and grey as the rest of the face, the other a vivid green.

'She is beautiful, is she not?' he breathed with reverence, gently tracing the outline of it's delicate features with his hand. 'Tis a monument to my foolishness. I saw her once on the outskirts of Evereska and said nothing. I let thee pass from mine eyes and mine heart hath cursed me for it!'  
He turned to them, his eyes wide once more, almost pleading.  
'I am bound to this place until my task is done. I have not slept in days!'  
'Are those real emeralds?' ventured Fritha, looking up at the sparking green eye with awe, and Imoen could see she was as worried about his behaviour as the rest of them; clearly the famed artist that painted the temple of Lathander bore little resemblance to this lunatic.  
'Yes, and to answer your next question, they are indeed the ones reported as stolen and that have put a price on my head. But I care not! Nothing else that would capture the majesty of her eyes and I did what must be done.'  
'As will I.'

Imoen whirled round with the rest of them to see a tall broad man, shaggy grey hair spilling over his shoulders, his face a web of scars.  
'No! Not yet! My work is nearly done! Please, Greywolf, I implore you!'  
'_You're_ Greywolf?' exclaimed Fritha, looking highly affronted.  
'Prism wishes only to finish his masterwork, what harm can it do?' said Jaheira reasonably, stepping forward in a conciliatory gesture.  
'You should be more worried about the harm I can do!' he snarled in reply, moving forward to meet her toe to toe, a hand on his sword hilt, 'never have I taken a bounty and not delivered! Now stand aside that I might dispense with this fool and claim my prize.'  
'No!'

Prism leapt forward with a cry; chisel in hand, in a desperate attempt to stop him. The blow didn't even make contact though, as the bounty hunter turned with agility that belied his size, and slashed him neatly across the stomach.  
'Prism!' screamed Fritha, who started forward to catch him as he staggered backward, twisting just in time to parry the blade stroke meant to finish the artist.  
Greywolf's eyes narrowed.  
'You should have minded your own business.'

A heavy boot caught the girl just under the ribs and Imoen stifled a cry as she watched his sword slash deftly across her chest. Fritha's eyes widened and her face seem to pale as she stumbled backward, catching just enough breath to gasp, 'cold!' before slumping to the ground. Minsc roared, slamming into the bounty hunter before he could finish his attack and sending the man reeling into the stone face. Imoen raced over to her friend, reaching her just as Jaheira did, the worried look on the druid's face serving only to panic her further.

'Fritha? Fritha!'  
Her armour was unbroken, but there was a cool blue tinge to her skin and her eyes were glazed. Suddenly a hand was on her shoulder and she turned to see Dynaheir looking down at her, her eyes gentle.  
'I will help her, Imoen, rejoin the battle. I can do no more magic this day.'  
She glanced back to the lifeless body of her friend, her breath, a frail mist above blue lips.  
'But-'  
'Imoen, do as she says!'  
She stood quickly and turned from them, her fear making her angry, the two women's voices echoing in her ears as she moved warily back to the men.  
'Here, help me take her armour off.'

Minsc was sat panting on a rock nearest her, his face screwed up in pain while he chanted dully over a nasty wound in his thigh. Imoen knew enough not to interrupt him and looked ahead to where the last the two warriors were circling each other warily, her fingers lightly stroking the pommel of the dagger at her hip.  
Suddenly, Khalid stepped forward, sweeping his sword up from behind to cleave the assassin's head. Greywolf anticipated the blow, dodging to Khalid's right and slashing at his exposed flank. His shield behind him, Khalid raised his sword-arm to block with the vanbrace and suddenly he screamed, dropping his blade, and Imoen was amazed to see ice creeping up his gauntlet. Greywolf had his back to her now, all his focus on attacking Khalid, the air ringing with the clash of his sword on Khalid's shield.  
Imoen saw her chance and leapt forward, dagger ready.

'Oh no you don't,' he yelled, whirling just in time to stop the blow, giving her hand a vicious twist as he disarmed her before shoving her to the ground.  
Her attack had failed, but the seconds of distraction cost him dearly. Imoen watched from where she lay as he turned back just in time to meet Khalid's blade, grasped awkwardly in his left hand, and it was all over.

Imoen rose with a wince, cradling her hand to her chest, Khalid mirroring her as Fritha walked slowly back to them, pale and listless. Dynaheir and Jaheira carrying her belongings, flanking her like an honour guard.  
'You okay?' she asked and Imoen nodded, about to reply when a groan cut her off. All turned to see Prism leant against his effigy, half hidden in the undergrowth, two bright green eyes watching over him.  
'Alas, my work is complete,' he sighed, leaving a bloody handprint on the rock as he slumped backward, gasping, 'take what you will from my possessions but leave the sparkle in her eyes.'  
Imoen and Dynaheir rushed forward to him, still hopeful, while the rest looked on with unhappy resignation.  
'Please, hold still, we can still save you,' cried Imoen trying to staunch the wound with her good hand as Dynaheir propped up his shoulders.  
'No, no, my body is too weak now.'  
And with the last of his strength he flung back his head, as though calling out to his final creation.

'O, sweet creature, my effigy to thee is done, as is my time here. Perhaps our paths shall cross in distant realms and I shall find the courage to call thy name. Ellesime!'  
One last breath and finally his body sagged, the mage gently lowering it back to the ground where it lay as though asleep.  
'Oh, the poor idiot. What a waste,' sighed Imoen, shaking her head. She turned to the others, Fritha, who had seemed so worried before, looking strangely dispassionate.  
Fritha nodded once, looking down at the body her expression unreadable.  
'Have you got the spade Minsc?'  
The ranger nodded, slipping off his pack to fetch it as the others turned to eye her curiously.  
'Well, we can't just leave him like this, can we?'  
'And what about him?' asked Jaheira, her voice strangely quiet, gesturing to the bloodied corpse that had been the hunter.  
Fritha snorted, her eyes hard, and Imoen felt a cold creep over her that had nothing to do with the weather.  
'The wolves can have him.'

Fritha brushed the dirt from her hands, her knees clicking as she rose from her crouched position by the fresh grave.  
'There, what do you think?' asked Imoen and Fritha looked up to where the word "PRISM" had been clumsily etched into the rock below the face.  
She nodded before turning to Jaheira, and the rest of them gathered round as the druid held a hand out over the freshly tilled soil.  
'From nature we came and to nature we return. Silvanus' blessing be upon you.'

The group seemed to nod as one before breaking up each moving off to collect their own belongings and prepare for travel. Fritha swung her cloak back round her shoulders and picked up her sword.  
'Hey, what are you doing?' exclaimed Imoen as Fritha drew the weapon and began to prise the emerald from the lifeless face.  
'What does it look like? Here, lend me your dagger, will you?'  
Imoen glanced warily to Jaheira but the older woman did not look too bothered.  
'And what do you plan to do with those once you have them?' she asked casually. 'Even _you_ must have enough hair trinkets by now?'  
Fritha coloured slightly at this but her voice remained steady and she even managed a smile.  
'_Actually_, I thought we could donate them to the temple back in Nashkel. The mine may have been restored but it will still take a while for the village to fully recover.'  
Jaheira smiled too; she was suddenly beginning to see a glimmer of what Khalid had seemed to notice from the start.  
'Yes, the donation of these to the temple is a fine idea. Some good may as well come from this tragedy,' she agreed, with a curt nod, 'Imoen.'  
Dagger in hand, the stones were soon free and the group set off back to the village, the last snow of spring falling about them.

xxx

Khalid glanced to the dark glass of the windows, the light of the room making the night outside seem all the blacker. Unsurprisingly, the snow had eased-off before they'd even descended half the way back down to Nashkel, but the night air was still cool and the small inn seemed cosy and welcoming in comparison.

Dynaheir and Minsc had been with them earlier, Dynaheir, he had noted, putting a good deal of space between herself and Imoen. But they had left an hour or so ago, talking together in their thick Rashemi tongue as they went.

Khalid sighed contentedly leaning back in his chair and taking in the faces of the three woman sat around him. Across from him, Fritha and Imoen were chatting animatedly, their faces glowing in a way that had nothing to do with the firelight. Khalid smiled as he listened to them; the worries of the iron crisis and what they would find on their return to Beregost melting away as he sat there with a warm fire and cool wine watching the two bicker genially. You could tell they'd been friends for a long time, their easy banter peppered with quips and jibes.

His smile lingered as his eyes fell on the woman next to him. Jaheira had been unusually quiet for a while. Anyone else would have probably dismissed her behaviour; it couldn't be said there was nothing to reflect upon after the revelations at the mines. But Khalid knew his wife better than that and it was clear to him she was pondering something a lot closer to home. He reached out to give his wife's hand a gentle squeeze, the echoes of a promise he'd made still with him as he returned his gaze to the pair.

'And can you _believe_ it? I'm mean 'chap' I can almost understand, but mistaking _me _for that six feet of lumbering bounty-hunting brute! Well! If I ever see that idiot again…'  
Fritha made a violent gesture in the air, half backhand, half poke in the eye and Imoen snorted her amusement before continuing.  
'Yeah, well, at least you only got your pride hurt, look at my hand! Bloody bounty hunters!' she said, motioning at her with three tightly bound fingers, 'I won't be able to hold my lock picks properly for days!'  
'Like that's going to make much difference,' Fritha muttered in to her drink with smirk, ale slopping over the side of her cup as Imoen replied with an indignant shove to the shoulder.

'Hey, careful, you nearly got my autograph!' Fritha cried, whipping the paper from the table as the pool of ale slowly spread.  
Jaheira sighed, rolling her eyes as she turned from him, a look of pure exasperation contorting her features.  
'Really, Fritha! Are you still waving about that worthless scrap of parchment?'  
'_Worthless?_' she gasped dramatically, holding it to her chest as though to protect its feelings from this unprovoked attack, 'I'll have you know that this piece of paper is signed by the one and only Larry, Darryl and Darryl!'  
'By Silvanus, Fritha, that means nothing!'  
Fritha gave her a supremely superior look, Imoen dissolving in to silent giggles at the sight.  
'If _you_ don't understand, I'm not going to explain it too you.'

Jaheira turned back to him, her lips pursed and Khalid was wondering what comment she was biting back when he noticed.  
'J-Jaheira? Are you smiling?'  
'And what if I _am_?' she replied archly, the smirk still fighting to break free.  
Khalid shook his head with a grin of his own and somehow, from that point on, he knew their little group wouldn't be disbanding; they'd see this through together, right to the end.


	7. Encounters

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein.  
Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Encounters**

Fritha squinted as she looked up to the shafts of sunlight that had managed to filter through the canopy as the group made their way northward on the road back to Beregost. After all the rains of the last tenday, Mirtul had finally slipped into a peaceful Kythorn and she was just taking pleasure from being able to look up and see the deep azure of a cloudless sky. At least, she would have been, was it not for the dull anxious feeling that had crept into her stomach ever since her dream last night.

She pulled her light cloak about her slightly, trying to lose the shiver that seemed to have suddenly crept over her skin as she recalled the panic with which she'd woken. The way she had sat there with her heart thundering, the room laying about her, untouched in shades of grey, the stillness broken only by the gentle snore of Imoen asleep next to her. She had had half a mind to wake her too, just for the mere company of it, and had got as far as hissing her name, before guilt stopped her and she'd lain back down to wait for sleep.

Fritha shook her head. Though the dream had seemed so vivid at the time, all she could recall now was a jumble of images and a vague sense that there was something important lurking on the edge of her mind, just out of reach. She stared ahead trying to focus her attention elsewhere; the greens of the trees, the trill of birdsong, the rhythmic crunch of feet on path.  
But nothing seemed enough to distract her, and she walked like that, with leaden unease, for another hour or so, until through the trees she saw the red slate roofs of Beregost.

The town was pretty much as they'd left it and it was hard to believe that it had only been a few days since she'd first arrived here. So much had changed in that short time it seemed ridiculous to think how excited she'd been before.  
Jaheira stopped to question a small boy on their arrival and he was happy enough to act as a guide, leading them across the southern edge of the town and leaving them outside Feldpost's inn with a wave and a silver coin for his trouble.

Fritha was last as they filed inside, the grey stone walls contrasting pleasantly with the simple wood of the floor and furniture in the main tavern. Dynaheir and Minsc, two extremes in the art of persuasion, were dispatched to the bar and moments later returned with news of their quarry.  
'Upstairs, the first door on the right,' said Dynaheir with a glance back to the barman who was gazing after her wistfully, the glare from Minsc keeping him firmly behind the bar, 'apparently we've just caught him; he was planning to leave today.'

They made their way up the stairs behind them, ascending to a wide landing lined with doors and Fritha glanced about before moving over to the right one. The door was ajar and she peered round to see a short man, not quite middle-aged but worn with it. His mousy hair tousled, his face not quite clean-shaven; he held the look of someone who had not been sleeping well for a few days. He was stood behind a table in the centre of the room, hastily shoving things into a bag, a cloak already thrown over his robes.  
Fritha smiled to the others and led the way in.

'Knock, knock.'  
The man looked up sharply, his eyes glancing to the staff leant by the door before coming back to rest on them.  
'Tranzig, isn't it?' Fritha began conversationally, moving into the room while the others fanned out behind her.  
He nodded, continuing to try and push things into his already stuffed pack as he spoke.  
'Why do ya bother me? Can't ya see that I'm in a hurry to get out of this damn town?'  
'But we're here from Mulahey,' she answered, letting just a hint of indignant hurt creep into her voice.  
'Mulahey? It's been days since I've heard from…'

He trailed off as a knowing smile spread across her face.  
'Ya know what I'm up to, eh?' he confirmed with a scowl, stepping round the table to meet her toe to toe, 'well maybe something ya don't know about is my magic skills. Ya might not believe me but if you ain't out of my face in the next five secon-'  
Fritha's fist came out of nowhere, catching him by the scruff of his robes while a well placed kick sent him crashing to his knees.  
Her hand still at his throat, she leaned in close to stare into the now wide and terrified eyes.  
'Now just you listen!' she spat, giving him a shake for good measure, 'Dynaheir here, _is_ a mage, so if you don't start co-operating…'  
The Wychlaran rubbed her hands expressively, static crackling between the long dark fingers.  
'No stop, please! Mercy, I beg of you.'

Fritha looked down at him, with no more intention of killing a defenceless man than she had of lopping off her own head, but _he_ didn't know that.  
'You will tell us what we need to know?' she asked coolly, finally releasing him.  
'My bag,' he gasped, almost tripping over his robes in his haste to stand, 'there are letters.'  
He reached out to get them, only to find a long staff barring his way.  
'I think that can stay here,' said Jaheira curtly  
'But, but my things-'  
'You can leave here with your life and your conscience,' said Fritha, smiling as she added sweetly, 'anything more would be a burden.'  
He looked for a moment as though he would argue before sighing defeatedly, taking up his own staff and making for the door.

'I wonder if we do the right thing,' said Dynaheir slowly, watching the open doorway as though tempted to follow, 'he could cause more trouble for us alive.'  
Fritha shrugged, still rummaging through his pack.  
'He won't be in a position to do anything dead, good or bad. Ah, here we are.'  
She pulled out a square of slightly dog-eared parchment, unfolded it and glanced it over before handing it to Jaheira.  
'It's from the same one as before, this Tazok person. It says if Mulahey hasn't made contact by today, Tranzig's to leave and seek out their base camp around Peldsvale or Larswood. Looks like Tranzig was getting nervous.'  
'Dost thou think he will go and tell his masters we are aware of them?'  
'Not likely!' snorted Imoen, 'they're probably of the attitude that if we didn't kill him for the information then they'll kill him for giving it up!'  
'So we t-travel east then?'

Nerve-wracking though it was, being caught up with all this banditry and intrigue, it _was_ very interesting slowly peeling back the layers of this plot and a gave certain satisfaction to know that soon they would apprehend the real architects and find out the reasons for the scheme. And if nothing else, she considered practically, it served as ample distraction from dark dreams and bounty hunters.  
Fritha grinned.  
'East, it is.'

But, by the time they left the inn, the idea of travel was distinctly less inviting. The sun was a dark orange globe hanging low in the sky, casting the shadow of the inn over them as they loitered on the path outside planning their next move, and Fritha conceded that, however eager she was to see this mystery solved, it would be best to start travel with a whole day ahead of them.  
A second later Jaheira herself vocalised these thoughts, suggesting they find an inn. No one, it seemed, was tempted to stay in Feldpost's place and Fritha let the conversation drift away from her, glancing northward up the street to the town square, happy to let Jaheira and Dynaheir 'fine-tune' the details of this between them. She could see the remains of the market being dismantled; merchants bustling about their stalls eager to get home while a last few patrons haggled over the price of day old wares.

'Fritha! Fritha!'

She turned to see a fair young girl, no older than seven, running up the street from the east towards them, her bare dusty feet slapping on the cobbles, linen apron flapping behind her like a sail. She stopped just in time to prevent herself barrelling into Fritha's legs, gasping as she simultaneously tried to catch her breath and deliver her message.

'S-Someone in the Jovial Juggler gave me a gold piece to come and find you.'  
'Whoa, slow down,' said Fritha dropping down to be level with the child, 'how did you know my name?'  
The girl looked momentarily surprised she'd asked before she beamed, her eyes gazing about at them all.  
'Why, everyone here is talking about you. You're the ones who saved the Nashkel mines.'  
'Gods, we're famous!'  
'So, who is asking for me, child?'  
'Her name's Officer Vai and she's with the Flaming Fist.'  
'The Flaming Fist? Maybe they're going to arrest you!' Considered Imoen, looking positively hopeful at the thought.  
Fritha frowned slightly.  
'Oh, you needn't worry, she's really nice,' the girl piped up, looking concerned that her message was not being well received.  
'Yes? And how much did she pay you for that _glowing_ reference?'  
The girl gigged brightly as Fritha ruffled her blonde hair before straightening with a sigh.  
'Well, you've earned your gold piece, I'll go there now.'

The girl nodded, beaming up at her before turning and skipping northward up the street.  
Fritha watched her until she was lost in the crowds, then turned and followed the rest of them as they walked east, their banter carrying back to her on the still evening air.  
'Did I not say we should stay at the Juggler? But thou wouldst not listen.'  
'Really? _I_ don't remember. What are you whining about now, Imoen?'  
'I said, "we're heading too far north". It's this street, not that one.'  
'Trust you to know, anywhere that serves food!'  
'J-Jaheira!'

xxx

'Are you ready?'

Fritha looked up to her friend, who was beaming in candle light of the small rented room above the Jovial Juggler that they would be sharing for the night, the noise of the pub below drifting through the open window. She nodded, laying down the comb and watching her reflection in the mirror of the dresser as she gathered up her wet hair and secured it with pins.  
Being accosted in the street and told the head of a mercenaries' guild wanted to see her had been surprising enough but to run into that mage again; the one whose presence she'd barely registered before, the one who, it turned out, had known Gorion and was one of the most renowned mages in Faerûn!

Fritha shook her head to herself. All Vai had wanted was to enlist their help in eliminating the bandits, not a problem since they were planning to do that anyway. But Elminster? The man spoke in riddles and the meeting with the mage had opened anew old worries to the point where she felt alien in her own skin.

She stared at her reflection, almost a stranger to her with her hair up and dressed in a pale green tunic that Imoen had lent her.  
Was it just that, or something else? Something in the eyes…  
'Come on,' her friend laughed, mistaking her scrutiny for vanity,' you look fine!'  
She nodded again only half-listening and rose to follow her friend out.

Imoen led them down the polished wooden stairs, Vai noticing their decent and smiling to them, raising her cup in greeting before turning back to the officer at her side and leaving Fritha feeling strangely exposed. Jaheira and Khalid were already seated at a table in the corner of the bar not already occupied by soldiers and they made their way over to them through the throng to take seats with their backs to the crowd. She was nervous at first, rigid in her chair as though tensed for any threat, but the easy atmosphere of the bar and two cups of ale later had banished her worries and she sat laughing with Imoen as happy as she'd been since Nashkel.

The soldiers on the table behind them were engaged in some sort of drinking game, and Fritha and Imoen had turned in their seats to watch them. The rules either too complex to decipher or otherwise _more_ than flexible; it seemed to involve a couple of the older mercenaries laughing as their greener comrades got steadily more soused and the girls passed the time predicting who would succumb next, and laughing along when they did.

Fritha smiled to herself, turning back to catch Jaheira and Khalid in the briefest of kisses, swiftly dipping her head to take a drink and pretending not to notice. She sighed. Her fears seemed so trivial now; just born of dark dreams and darker imaginings, unable to survive in the face of such life and laughter.

So, she was caught up in a plot that was affecting the entire Sword Coast?  
Merely circumstances.  
So, Elminster knew her on sight?  
He was just looking out for her as a favour to Gorion.  
So, someone was offering up a king's ransom to see her dead?  
Well…  
Well, some fears were still lingering, but 'every cloud…'

Behind her, a roar from the soldiers signalled another had fallen victim to their drinking game and across the table Jaheira frowned.  
'This inn is too noisy.'  
Fritha smiled.  
'Well, I like the Jovial Juggler,' she said with sincerity, leaning back in her chair, 'it's one of the few inns where no one has tried to kill me.'  
Imoen laughed at her flippancy while Jaheira rolled her eyes.  
Just then, Vai appeared at her elbow, smiling kindly.  
'Ah, Fritha, might I have a word?'

Jaheira smiled to herself as she watched what seemed like the hundredth love-struck young solider go and introduce himself to the copper-haired girl who just seemed to grow more interesting as time went on. Officer Vai had called her over there an hour ago to ask her about an old friend who ended up working as a guard in Candlekeep and since then it seemed every young man in her company had jumped upon the chance to meet with the girl who'd had a hand in the rescue of Nashkel.  
And the fact that she happened to be uncommonly pretty?  
Well,Jaheira was _sure_ that was beside the point…

When the first couple of men had been introduced, she'd been ready to march over there and put an end to things; swearing to protect Gorion's ward did not just end at bounty hunters. But, surprisingly, it was Imoen who had stayed her, saying that the girl had ways of looking after herself and she wasn't to worry.  
The young thief was at her side now, watching her friend with a warm, almost maternal smile, as the girl herself was perched on the table opposite, an older mercenary talking to her, while behind, two cadets were subtly shoving each other, neither willing to be the first to interrupt them.

'Are people always like this?' Jaheira asked, torn between amusement and disbelief at the amount of friends Fritha suddenly seemed to have  
'Oh yeah…' she answered without a hint of jealousy,' there's just something about her that people find they can relate to. I think it's all that lore and stuff she knows; she can chat with people about what they find interesting, and she really listens too, people appreciate that.'  
'Yeah…' she nodded again to herself, as laughter broke out again from the opposite table, 'most people find Fritha a very easy person to like.'

Jaheira suspected she heard a slight stress on the word 'most' but pretended not to notice as Imoen continued on.  
'Though it's easier to see with people like _this_,' she said with a gesture to the embodiments of chaos and alcohol that packed the rest of the bar. 'One minute they're attempting to drink their own bodyweight in ale, the next they're making polite conversation about the weather, the best way to train hippogriffs, the conjugation of Netherese passive verbs and whatever else Fritha can dredge up from that bottomless mind of hers.'  
Imoen just shrugged, grinning at her bewildered expression.  
'I don't understand it either but she just brings out the best in people. It's like she expects them to be nice and they don't have the heart to disappoint her.'

'But still,' Jaheira considered gravely, 'with such an attitude, she would be easy to take advantage of.'  
'How d'you mean?'  
'Well, if they got her drunk-'  
Imoen snorted into her beer covering her chin in foam and for a moment the desire to rebuke and the desire to learn more wrestled within her until,  
'What is it?'  
'You _are_ kidding?' the girl laughed, mopping her chin with her sleeve, 'Fritha never gets properly drunk, and it's not through lack of effort either. I swear, it's like she was weaned on the stuff! Back in Candlekeep, just her and Hull could take Winthrop's scrumpy. The only reason he kept brewing it was because it was great for cleaning the brasses.'

'Hey, Imoen.'  
They both looked up to see Fritha beckoning to her friend, the two cadets watching with shy curiosity. Imoen grinned.  
'I think I'm about to be introduced.'  
Jaheira watched her go, Fritha presenting her firstly to the two cadets, then to Vai who had just appeared again and who, in turn, introduced them both to the younger officer at her side who was now talking enthusiastically with Fritha.

'Ah, I see our young bard is making friends.'  
Jaheira turned, her eyes already narrowed at the familiar voice at her shoulder. Sure enough, Dynaheir had at last joined them, looking stunning in well-cut robes of crimson and watching Fritha with interest.  
'Really, it all seems perfectly innocent to me, but I suppose if your mind is focused that way…'  
It had been meant as an insult and a poorly veiled one at that but the mage just laughed warmly.  
'Of course she is innocent, that's half of what makes her so appealing. A very natural girl, never tries to hide anything, even things that are best left buried…'  
'What are you talking about?'  
Dynaheir finally turned to look at her, her smile fading.

'Thou, thou hast not noticed it?'  
'There is nothing _to_ notice,' she snapped, not wanting to give the mage the satisfaction of even _pretending_ to know more than she. Her reaction though was unexpected and Dynaheir looked down at her, her dark eyes grave.  
'Truly thou hast not… There is a darkness about the child. Surely, she is swathed in it!'  
'Nonsense!' Jaheira scoffed feeling suddenly unnerved.  
But Dynaheir just shrugged, moving off to the bar to join Minsc and leaving her with her thoughts.  
So, was that it? The reason she had felt so uncomfortable in the girl's presence since she joined them?

Jaheira glanced back to her, now laughing at something Imoen had said, holding this new revelation in mind, but even then, it was hard to associate such things with the warm-eyed, friendly girl that was sat across from her. She considered perhaps the witch was mistaken, but her instinct was telling her otherwise. Dark or not, there was definitely something unnatural about the girl that did not sit right with her.  
'Are you well, dearest, you seem a little distracted?'  
She turned to see Khalid leaning across the table to her, his eyes worried and it took her a moment to register what he'd said.  
'Fine, fine,' she answered, forcing herself to smile before turning back to watch the girl who Gorion had died to save, the girl with a thousand gold pieces on her head.

xxx

Imoen stuffed the rest of bread that was her breakfast into her mouth as she climbed the last step of the inn's narrow stairs. She smiled broadly, causing the passing woman to wrinkle her nose in disgust, as she heard Fritha's voice, raised in song, drifting along the corridor.  
'_…parted though you are from me, by the vast and heartless sea…_'

Imoen opened the door to the room they'd shared to find her friend waltzing about, collecting her belongings and packing them as she went. She glanced up sharply as she entered but, on seeing it was Imoen, her expression softened and she flung her pack on to the bed with a flourish and stepped forward to grab her hand and twirl herself under her arm, while Imoen laughed warmly.  
'_…every night as one we'll be, while the world is sleeping…_'

Fritha finished her song and swept backwards into a curtsey, pulling out the edges of her long tunic like a dress, Imoen applauding exaggeratedly.

'So, where were you this morning?' continued Imoen, while her friend returned to moving back and forth across the room, collecting her belongings. 'By the time I'd woken, you'd already gone.'  
'I went to the market, I was running short of a couple of things,' she answered, gathering up the last of her possessions and dumping them unceremoniously onto the bed with her bag.  
'Fair enough, but you could have come to breakfast. Minsc let me feed Boo,'she said, hoping to tease a reaction out of her but her friend just shrugged, seemingly distracted.  
'I just wasn't hungry…'  
She wasn't really surprised, Fritha never did have much of an appetite, but her quietness was unusual.  
Imoen grinned.  
'Wasn't hungry? No wonder you're like a lat. Breakfast's the most important meal of the day.'  
Fritha snorted.  
'And I suppose if it was noon now, lunch would be,' she laughed, taking a playful swipe at her belly.  
Imoen dodged it easily, laughing too, glad to see her back to normal.  
'Well, perhaps if I wouldn't be hungry, _I _was filled up on luuurve.'  
'What?'

Fritha was still smiling but an air of bemusement hung about her. Imoen stopped too, wondering whether her friend was serious.  
'Last night? Half the men in the Flaming Fist coming to talk to you?'  
Fritha remained unmoved.  
'Yes?'  
'Well…' spluttered Imoen, frustrated; she knew Fritha could be a bit thick when it came to boys but no one was _that_ dense, 'they liked you!'  
Fritha snorted, turning back to her packing.  
'Don't be daft. They were only talking to me.'  
'Well, that's _generally _how it starts.'  
'_I know_. But they weren't saying anything, you know, like _that_. They were just asking about where I was from and what I was doing. In fact…' she considered slowly, a frown creasing her brow, 'it was _very_ similar to the stuff the bounty hunters usually come out with, only without the trying to kill me afterwards.'

Imoen suppressed rolling her eyes with some difficulty, giving up on trying to convince her in favour of examining Fritha's new purchases.  
'Cordial of nettle? What's that for?' she asked, just as Jaheira walked into the room, no doubt checking on their progress.  
'Ah, here you two are, all packed Imoen?' she questioned sternly, glancing about for Imoen's pack before her eyes came to rest of the collection of bottles Fritha was trying to hurriedly stuff into her bag.  
'By Silvanus, girl! What have you got now?'  
'Just a couple of balms and such.'  
'Yeah and don't worry, Jaheira,' Imoen grinned with a glance to her friend, 'they're all entirely natural, so…'  
Fritha grinned too, her eyes sparkling.  
'…If we run out a rations…'  
The druid snorted, turning her back on the two as they dissolved into giggles.

xxx

Moments later and they were outside the inn and leaving Beregost, travelling northward for a few miles before stepping off the Coast Way and heading out into the eastern forests. The weather kept fine, the trees casting a pleasant amount of shade during the hot dry days as they walked, scouring the land for any mark of large camps or banditry. But the days crept by with no sign there was anything untoward occurring and patience among certain members of the group, at least, was wearing thin.

Last night, things had come to a head, a bit of teasing from Imoen sparking things off between her and Jaheira and from there it hadn't taken long to spiral into a camp-wide squabble. They'd all agreed to an uneasy truce before bedding down for the night but, even so, Fritha was glad to find everyone else still asleep as she awoke to the relative peace of the early morning in the Peldsvale.  
A low mist had settled over them as they'd slept and Fritha lay under her blankets watching the patterns it made as it swirled above her, listening to the whispers of the forest. It was about an hour later when nature finally pulled her from her bed and, once up and dress, she felt reluctant to return to the camp to just wait for the others to awaken. The sun had risen by now and with it her vigour and she took only a moment to grab her cloak and check everyone was still a sleep before striking south out into the forest, the mist swallowing her whole.

She had liked mornings like this in Candlekeep, when the sea fret was in and the world outside the keep was transformed to a shadeland; the people around her reduced to pearl-white ghosts, just shapes in the mist. There was something pleasantly isolating about it, and she wandered along caught by the fantasy that she could be the only person left in the world.

She'd lost track of how long she'd walked when she first heard it; the distant clash of metal and a familiar growling tongue that meant only one thing. She walked on, her pace quickened as she followed the sound. The ground was sloping downwards and the mist thinning when she finally came to an open plain and down before her a male drow fighting with half a dozen gnolls.

Of what Fritha knew about drow, especially of one famed individual in particular, she already had a pretty good idea who she had just run into. Still, however probable it _was _that this was Drizzt Do'urden, the infamous ranger from the North, she really didn't think it would be in anyone's interests that she took it for granted. A high number of the drow race did tend to be a bit on the evil side and so not the sort of people you wandered blithely into conversation with. And even if he _was_ a friendly drow, who had thrown off the _dark shackles_ of his people and fled to the surface, he would be so thoroughly sick of people who happened upon him assuming he was Drizzt he'd probably be quite tempted to return!  
She _hated_ being recognised as Fritha, and that was who she actually was.

He didn't appear to be in any immediate danger and so she stopped, leaning against a tree to watch, as he dodged and parried, twin scimitars just flashes of silver arcing about him, vaguely deliberating on whether she should greet him in common or under-common until the decision was taken for her.

'You there!' he shouted, twisting almost acrobatically to avoid a halberd thrust and finally noticing her, 'will you help a stranger in need?'  
Fritha shrugged to herself and drew her sword, ambling down the hill to casually run-through the nearest gnoll who had failed to notice her approach. She turned to block a swing from the gnoll next to him, ducking under the next blow to slash the beast across the belly, the drow dispatching the last two in a flurry of blades and at last, it was just her and him in that silent misty field.  
'Well met, stranger,' he greeted once they'd sheathed their weapons, reaching out to shake her hand, 'I am Drizzt Do'urden and I appreciate your assistance.'

'It is a long enough trip to the Icewind Dale, even without these constant interruptions,' he continued, stooping to re-shoulder his pack, making for a track that skirted the forest westward, 'I do not recall banditry being of such epidemic proportions in this area; how long has this been so?'  
Fritha shrugged, falling into step beside him.  
'Ever since the iron crisis, as far as I'm aware. The local iron mines have been poisoned, making the iron worthless. Now, bandits are more likely to take your sword than your gold.' She laughed brightly, but the gesture was not shared. 'My friends and I are looking into the problem. We've tracked them to a camp somewhere, well, around here actually, where we hope to find an end to this mystery.'

Drizzt nodded, his face grave.  
'Noble goals and ones I would hold dear myself. But your struggle will be difficult, for the bandits that I have encountered are no mere vagabonds with blades. The humans bear the style of the Black Talon and the hobgoblins that of The Chill, but they are but mercenary groups and unlikely to be the architects of this endeavour. You would do well to infiltrate into their ranks if you wish to determine their masters.'  
Shenodded, smiling. They had reached the path by now and Fritha sensed a parting of ways was in the air. She bowed slightly, her hands clasped just under her bust in the traditional greeting of Candlekeep.  
'Your advice is sound and I will heed it,' before she grinned widely, softening the gesture, 'know that I think well of you on your journey.'  
Drizzt, at last, smiled too, his teeth bright against his dark skin.  
'And I, you. Luck be on your side.'

'Where have you been?' Jaheira called, glancing up from her cooking to notice Fritha wending her way through the trees, the remnants of a light mist still swirling at her feet. The others had a awoken by now and the small camp was a hive of activity as everyone moved about, dressing and packing, ready to leave.  
'Went for a wander,' she called back brightly, finally reaching the clearing and throwing herself down on her bedding, 'had to stop to help someone with some gnolls.'  
'Really?' said Imoen, eyeing her curiously.  
Fritha nodded, rooting through her pack to find her comb.

'Yes, we chatted a bit about the banditry problem and he thinks we should try to infiltrate the group rather than a full-frontal assault.'  
'Yes, well, we have to f-find them first,' added Khalid, throwing her a smile as he left the camp.  
'And who was _he_, to be giving us advice so freely?' said Jaheira archly, serving the porridge with more than her usual level of belligerence and spattering her tunic in the process.  
Fritha shrugged, taking her bowl from the druid to lay it gently beside her pack.  
'I don't know, I suppose he's had a lot of experience in that sort of thing.'  
'How would you know?' asked Imoen.  
'Well, he was Drizzt Do'urden.'

They both stopped mid-action, the gentle drip of porridge from the spoon half way to Imoen's mouth unnoticed by either of them.  
'You're lying,' said Jaheira flatly, still staring as though willing her to deny it.  
Fritha just shrugged though and continued to brush her hair. Imoen's face lit up.  
'She's not!' she squealed, almost dropping her bowl in her haste for an answer, 'oh my gods, what was he like?'  
Fritha paused in her brushing to consider this a moment.  
'Short, but quite nice… His accent's really posh too,' she added in afterthought.  
Imoen nodded slowly, considering these revelations while Jaheira seemed to loom above them.  
'Short, but quite nice?' she repeated, looking appalled, 'Fritha, that man is a legend and that's all you bring away from the meeting!'  
But Fritha just shrugged, pushing her comb back into her pack and gathering up her own bowl of porridge.

They broke camp only about half an hour later, navigating through the thinning mists as best they could. There were a few moments of disagreement on directions, and Imoen kept swearing blind that she recognised certain trees from before, though Fritha noticed it was in a very quite voice that only she could hear. But Fritha was glad to see everyone's reluctance to argue since last night and when the mist finally burnt off at around mid-morning, everyone seemed heartened to see they had not strayed too far off course.

The day wore on, hot and dry and fruitless as all those that ran before it, but whether it was due to the previous night's falling out, or the fact no one expected anything else after so long, spirits seemed lighter today. And as the sun set on, what turned out to have been, the middle day of Kythorn, the group were already settled around a small campfire sharing food and stories like friends of old.

Fritha finished her diary entry with a flourish, which unfortunately ended up spraying a line of ink across her hand. She sighed, rubbing at it absently as she glanced west to a clear amber sky. She'd been wondering about it all day, this most recent incident just serving to remind her the necessity of her plan. Still about half an hour to go before twilight really set in. That should be quite long enough…  
She closed the book with a snap, dropping it in to her bag and rising with a sigh.

'Right, I'm going for a wash.'  
'What!' Jaheira cried, head snapping up from the tunic she'd been darning.  
'It's been days since we've been near an inn and I really _need_ one,' she whined, though more at the fact she could feel herself blushing than at Jaheira's questions. The druid's exclamation has started the others and now everyone was looking up at her with interest, she had to fight to hold the woman's gaze.  
'And _where_ do you plan on committing in this idiocy?'  
'In that stream we passed. Don't worry. Imoen will come with me, won't you.'  
'Sure,' answered Imoen, grinning widely at Jaheira.  
'Even so,' Jaheira continued indignantly, 'the possible danger should negate such vanity.'  
'Yes well, should, but doesn't,' she replied, forcing a casual shrug and giving Khalid a small smile, 'besides, maybe I can pull a 'Lydethia'.'  
'A what? Lydethia?'

'Yes,' Fritha continued, lowering herself back down, her voice changing slightly, taking a measured, almost melodious lilt as she began the story, 'she was an elven maiden from long ago whose beauty was so intense that if any male were to see her he would drop down dead; his heart would burst, you see.'  
Imoen snorted.  
'Hah! The blokes I know, it wouldn't be their hearts that burst!'  
'Imoen!' the group chorused while the girl in question was lost to giggles.  
'What h-happened?'  
'Well, Lydethia travelled far and wide in vain, trying to find one with whom she could share her love. One night she came exhausted to a temple of Sune and that kind goddess looked down upon her plight and pitied her. As Lydethia slept, Sune took down some stars and created a man of such beauty that he alone could court her.'  
'So it's a happy ending then?' asked Jaheira, interested in spite of herself.  
Fritha sadly shook her head.

'Afraid not. You see though Sune had created the man, such were his charms that she herself began to fall in love with him. She tried to ignore it but over the years it just grew worse. She found herself unable to think of anything else and so did it affect her that in the end she had to return him to the stars from whence he came. Here, you can still see him there.'  
All followed her hand as she traced the outline of the constellation overhead, just visible in the pale indigo of the eastern skies.  
'Wow…' breathed Imoen, utterly enchanted, 'what happened to Lydethia?'  
'She shared the fate she had given to so many and died of a broken heart.'  
'How sad…' Khalid said with a sigh.  
'Still, one thing did come from their union, a child. The first ever half-elf born on Faerûn.  
'Really?'  
'Yes, a child with the beauty of the stars and the blood of the immortals… a daughter, whom the gods named-' she paused a moment, slyly glancing at their rapt faces, '-Fritha.'

For a second silenced reigned until the group groaned as one, drawing back with much smiling and shaking of heads.  
'Fritha!' cried Imoen, her voice wavering somewhere between laughter and dismay, 'you just made all that up, didn't you!'  
'No, no,' she placated, grinning, 'just the end bit, the rest is true.'  
'Well,' she continued, rising again, bag in hand, 'I'm off for a wash, coming?'

xxx

Fritha smiled to herself as she followed the sandy-haired lad through the trees at a brisk pace, her friends not far behind her. Finally, after almost half a tenday of fruitless searching, their luck had changed that afternoon, and one quick chat with their unfortunate guide, Tevan, later and they were all on their way to becoming members of one of the most notorious bandit groups ever to plague the Sword Coast. The only _minor_ problem being, that they were more likely to find that the First Reader _was_ actually behind the whole thing, than they were to pass themselves of as "dangerously hardened mercenaries".

She watched as Tevan glanced behind him to the party as they followed the bandit through the ancient forests of Peldsvale. With Dynaheir and Jaheira not speaking from yet another argument, Khalid and Imoen playing a game of 'I went to market…' and Minsc announcing loudly at various intervals that his hamster wanted 'bandit blood', she couldn't blame him for looking a little wary. In fact, from the way he was wincing she suspected he was not looking forward to explaining why he'd invited such an odd group to join with them. Not that he'd had much of a choice in the matter; Dynaheir's spell had seen to that, though, if that had failed they could have always employed the Wychlaran obvious natural charms to convince him. Either that or set Jaheira on him…

She snorted at the thought and he caught her eye, clearly hoping that at least a couple of his new recruits were presentable. She gave what she hoped was both a reassuring and yet evil smile which fell disappointedly when he shuddered and returned his attention back to the path ahead. She would really have to work on her 'evil' before they reached the camp…

xxx

The camp was a hive of activity as they arrived, men and hobgoblins milling between the various tents and containers that were stacked about the clearing, other sat outside, by tents and fires repairing armour and checking equipment. A few looked up as they arrived, but most chose to ignore their passing as they followed Tevan to the centre of the camp and Jaheira suspected they were not the first to be recruited ad hoc from this area.

They had reached a space between the tents and Tevan signalled for them to stop, walking the last few paces to the centre of the clearing alone to speak with the broad rough man who was giving orders to the thief next to him.  
'Er, R-Raiken?'

He turned his mouth half open to greet the boy when his eyes fell on the group behind him and Jaheira steadily met his gaze.  
'Tevan! Who in the Abyss are these eejits? Are you mad bringing them here?'  
'I-It's a risk I know but we must think about keeping our numbers up! We'll not have the time to bring more from Iriaebor. Better we recruit here, th-they've already proved themselves to me.'  
'Proved themselves to you!' he scoffed, looking livid, 'get out of my sight! As for you,' he snapped, turning back to Jaheira, 'what's your story?'

She moved forward, with the measured but confident strides of someone meeting an equal.  
'We are mercenaries from Amn; we heard about the increased banditry to the north and decided it may be time for a career change. Merc or bandit, our line of work needs iron and we're looking to join the only side that controls any.'  
'Ah, you know about that, do you?' he confirmed, scratching the few days of growth on his chin, 'fair enough, you've done your homework but that doesn't mean you're what we're looking for.'  
'I assure you, we are quite efficient in what we do.'  
'Are you now?'

He looked over to where the others were stood quietly, and Jaheira was glad to see they looked neither nervous nor eager. Fritha seemed to be watching something in the trees while Imoen was talking casually with Minsc and Dynaheir, Khalid leaning on his sword and chatting with the bandit sat at his feet.  
She glanced warily to Raiken's face and could see he was mulling things over, his eyebrows brought low in a frown.  
'Efficient or not, it doesn't mean…'

He tailed off and Jaheira followed his gaze to Fritha, who had turned from the trees and was watching them, her expression unreadable. Jaheira tensed, waiting for the girl to do something ridiculous, but she just stood there, staring back at them. Not curious or expectant, just staring, with eyes as dark and hollow as they'd been when she'd stared at Prism's lifeless body. Then Imoen tapped her on the shoulder and just as suddenly it was gone and she'd turned to smile at her friend, as bright and natural as ever she'd been. Jaheira felt a wave of cold encompass her and fought hard against a shudder while the man at her side seemed to do the same.  
He turned to her, the frown still there and nodded once.  
'Tazok'll be here later this evening to meet you, until then stay within camp boundaries.'  
And with that, he turned and walked off, the sound of Fritha's laughter echoing after him.

Fritha glanced up as Jaheira approached, half-expecting a reproach for laughing before but the druid did not catch her eye, instead repeating what Raiken had said and then pairing them off for scouting.  
To her surprise, she and Imoen were placed together, though whether it was an expression of faith or the fact Jaheira did not want to be partnered with either of them remained a mystery. Minsc and Dynaheir were paired, which left Khalid to be with Jaheira, arrangements everyone found to their taste and the group disbanded, agreeing to reconvene in the same place at sunset.

She and Imoen strolled around the camp, relatively unnoticed in the activity around them, the occasional bandit giving them an appraising look every now and then, but most continued on as though they were beneath their interest. The late afternoon was hot now they were no longer had the shade of the trees and they had stopped, discussing whether sitting under a canopy that covered a supplies store on the edge of the camp could be considered as 'scouting', when a loud voice interrupted them.

'Hey you, new blood!'  
Fritha looked up to see a tall gangly lad, barely older then she was, standing on the porch of the large wooden hut at the end of the camp and with a nudge to Imoen, who seemed rather reluctant to leave the shade, she stepped forward to speak with him.  
'Just you keep in line 'cause I'll be watching you.'  
Fritha raised a sceptical eyebrow  
'And who might _you_ be?'  
'Me? I'm Credus and I'm your boss. I was the newest recruit until you showed up. Now you'll get all the stupid guard duty and I'll be moving up.'  
Imoen snorted at her side.  
'Oh, yeah? Well, you know what you can do? You can just get stuff-'  
The rest of Imoen's retort was lost as Fritha caught her with an elbow, ignoring her friend's glare to ask, 'what needs guarding in a camp full of heavily armed bandits?'  
Credus nodded wisely, seemingly pleased they were interested.

'Lots of people say that. "What do we need guards for?" "What's so special about Tazok's tent?" "Must not be very important if Credus can guard it."'  
Behind her, Fritha heard Imoen stifle a laugh.  
'Well they know nothing! I guards really well and good job too. Not many people know, but Tazok keeps important things in there. Papers and stuff,' he boasted, not noticing as their faces broke into identical grins.  
'Wow,' breathed Fritha reverently, nodding, 'that _does_ sound important. We'll be extra careful.'  
'Yeah, see you do 'cause I'm going now.'  
'Here, Imoen,' she continued, her face earnest, 'I'd better stay here and start my guard duty. You best go find Jaheira and tell her where I am.'  
'Right you are!' grinned Imoen, saluting with a flourish.  
Credus nodded sanctimoniously and swaggered off into the camp, Imoen throwing her a look and a grin before disappearing herself.

Fritha smiled back and, with a sigh, hopped up on to the porch to sit and wait, watching sun-gilded clouds drift in the western sky.


	8. Revelations

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein.  
Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine. 

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Revelations**

Jaheira appeared about an hour later, strolling over to lean casually on her staff at Fritha's side. Though the woman was a good few inches taller than her, being sat on the porch had evened things out between them, and their faces were level as Jaheira leaned in.

'Imoen said you've found Tazok's tent,' she began in a low voice, her tone contrasting with her expression, which was pulled into a friendly smile.

Fritha smiled too, making a slight gesture to the sunset as she spoke.

'That's what the previous guard said. Apparently full of his papers and such.'

'So Imoen could…'

Fritha's smile broadened, her eyes hard. 'Papers aren't the only things in there.'

The druid's eyebrows twitched slightly but the smile never wavered.

'How many?'

'At least three. The planks vibrate when they walk about,' she answered with a casual pat of the porch timbers that currently served as her seat.

'Right,' Jaheira said, straightening, 'the others are gathered round a fire in the east of the camp, I'll go and inform them of this and we shall come up with something. Are you okay to stay here?'

Fritha nodded brightly and the druid's smile flashed true for a second before she turned and wandered back into the camp.

xxx

Jaheira weaved her way through the tents and fires, her progress all but ignored by the surrounding bandits; something that served only to please her. Getting in as allies had been easy. Getting out as enemies…  
This silent concern lingered in the air as she finally came upon their own fire, Imoen looking up instantly and Jaheira predicted her first question.

'Fritha is fine,' she announced, as, at her feet, her husband moved along to make room for her in the circle, 'she has taken to the role of sentry with her usual simple amiability and is currently admiring the sunset.'

Everyone smiled at this news of Fritha, so accurately presented and the druid sat down, dropping her voice to relate her findings. Jaheira leaned back slightly as she finished, glancing about at them all as they considered her words before finally the silence was broken by the man at her side.

'Is there anyway we can get in without drawing t-too much attention to ourselves?'

Jaheira shrugged, eyes following a bandit that wandered past before she answered.

'Not that I could see. The building appears to be canvas over a wooden structure. Only one door in.'

'Could we cut the canvas?' asked Imoen, surprising her with her ingenuity, 'sneak in that way somehow?'

Jaheira shook her head.

'Not easily without alerting them to our presence. And while we're struggling to get in that way, they could be leaving via the door.'

'We could split the group, couldn't we?' the girl pressed, but Khalid gently intervened.

'It is a clever idea, but I fear we would still likely draw a crowd.'

'Let them come, Minsc and Boo will be ready!' announced the ranger, a little too loudly for her liking, but Dynaheir was already there, laying a calming hand upon his arm and pausing to give him a warning look, before she continued.

'There must be some way for one, or two of our number to enter under stealth, to meet any resistance while the rest of us move inside.'

Jaheira sighed, frowning as their options were eroded on by one until the course she wanted most to avoid was the only one left.

'I don't think so. But we do have one advantage.'

'Which is?'

'The only person guarding the place just happens to be one of our own.'

xxx

Jaheira had them wait until the shadows had lengthened, the sun just a dark orange sliver above the trees, before they moved on Tazok's tent, skirting the camp in twos and threes to finally reach it. Fritha was sat just as she had left her, the only difference being the thin grey cloak now thrown about her shoulders against the dusk chill. The girl raised a hand in greeting as she and Imoen approached, her eyes only flitting to the three who came in from the other direction, slipping round the back of the adjacent provisions tent to stand in the shadows, before she pointedly ignored them, all her focus on the pair in front of her.

'Hello there, come to take a turn, have you? I can't say I'm not glad, another hour sat here would have likely done me a mischief.'

Imoen snorted at her side and Jaheira suppressed a smile with some difficulty, lowering her voice to ask, 'Any change?'

The girl shook her head.

'None. Someone brought them food and such a couple of hours ago. I announced him and they took it at the door. So what's the plan?'

Jaheira shrugged. 'We knock, they answer and in we go.'

Fritha snorted, her smile a mix of amusement and incredulity.

'_That's_ the plan? Three _hours _discussion and _that's_ what you lot came up with?' She shook her head, still smiling. 'Fair enough, now?'

Jaheira nodded, throwing a glance to Khalid who had in the meantime moved with the others to climb on to the porch, still crouched in the shadows. Fritha nodded too, standing with a sigh and walking casually to the door as Jaheira and Imoen ascended the steps to join her. She smiled, throwing Jaheira a last glance before turning back to the door and knocking lightly.

'Yes?' came a gruff voice, muffled by the wood.

'It's me again, sir. A gentleman by the name of Tranzig for you.'

The door was only opened a fraction when the girl sprang forward, slamming her shoulder into the wood with a ferocity that made the druid jump, smashing the guard in the face and in a sudden flurry of movement, they were inside, Khalid and the Rashemi flying in after them, Minsc turning to shut the door while, at her feet, the guard lay groaning, both hands clutched to his face. Fritha glanced to him, feeling a twinge of guilt as his head rolled back, unconsciousness finally claiming him, before throwing her attention ahead of them. The four remaining men, three humans and an orc, had sprung to their feet, whirling to face the group and Jaheira stepped forward.

'What the-'

'We are here for information only,' she began, her voice even and full of authority as she coldly eyed each one in turn, 'co-operate and no one shall be harmed.'

The four seemed to share a look, the shortest man stepping forward with a smile, slowly drawing his sword and behind him the others followed suit.

'I don't know who in the Hells you think you're talking to, woman, but you'll not be alive long enough to find out.'

He lunged at her, a move she anticipated with ease, dodging the blow, and catching him firmly round the back of the head, Khalid stepping up to finish him with a sword thrust through the back as he stumbled forward. The speed of the kill seemed to leave all in shock and for a split second, enemies regarded each other in silence until someone roared, "Kill them!" and battle erupted.

Minsc, Jaheira and Khalid swept forward to meet the two men, Minsc's greatsword proving equal parts help and hindrance in the confines of the tent. Dynaheir hung back, her hands just a blur as great arcs of energy exploded from them and Fritha had been about to join her when Imoen screamed and she whirled back just in time to dodge an arrow, so close the flight brushed her ear.

The orc.

Now half-crouched behind the desk, his narrow eyes followed them, another arrow already nocked, as Imoen pulled her behind a stack of crates.

'Come on, this way,' she hissed and Fritha allowed herself to be led along the wall, keeping low and hidden as they advanced on him, arrows whistling past them as they went.

'That's it', Imoen finally whispered, flattening herself against a large chest as another arrow flew past, 'we can't get any closer without him having an open shot.'

Fritha licked her lips nervously.

'When he fires, there's a window of a few seconds while he reloads. I'll go over the top, cover me with your bow. Okay, on the next one- now!'

The arrow had barely passed them when Fritha leapt over the chest, sword already drawn, to slide across the desk, bringing the blade down at his head. And the next few moments played out as though time had slowed, as, to her horror, he instantly dropped the bow and snatched up his sword from the decking, her assumption of those few crucial seconds it would take to draw it, proving her undoing. He blocked her blow with ease, standing to return it and it was all she could do to scramble off the desk as the blade swept down at her.

Now beneath him, he pinned her with a heavy foot, sword poised above her and for a second their eyes met as he raised the blade to strike. She winced, bracing herself for the blow and… nothing. She stared up at him, swaying above her to collapse sideways with an almighty crash, revealing the unsure form of Imoen, a dagger still tightly gripped in her hand.

'Imoen?'

The girl seemed to jolt, finally pulling her eyes away from the body and reaching down a hand to help her up as Khalid arrived at her shoulder.

'Are you both uninjured?'

Fritha nodded, moving to step over the body when a noise at her feet started her.

'H-Hello?'

For one awful second she glanced to the slack face of the dead orc, until the sound of movement drew her to the map of the Western Heartlands, hung floor to ceiling behind her, and she swept it aside to reveal a man bound hand and foot, a bag secured over his head.

'Hello? I know you're there,' he continued, his tone almost teasing and Fritha frowned slightly. There was something familiar about the voice and Imoen obviously agreed.

'You!' the girl shouted suddenly, realisation flashing in her eyes, 'I knew I didn't see anyone speak. It was you who shouted! We could have talked our way out of it.' Imoen glanced about the group, her eyes hard. 'I say we leave him here!'

He turned to her sharply, nervous laughter quivering behind his words.

'Come now, haven't you ever heard of "the enemy of my enemy…".'

'Yes,' agreed Jaheira dryly, 'the saying speaks of enemies though, not prisoners.'

Fritha stared down at him, knowing she could not leave him there, whoever he turned out to be.

'What's your name?'

'Endar, Endar Rai.'

She glanced round at them all, before slowly turning back to her friend.

'Imoen.'

The girl scowled but complied all the same, drawing her dagger and beginning to work at the bonds while she loosed the hood, drawing it back to reveal a man of middle age, his dark shaggy hair sticking out at odd angles, the few days growth on his face doing little to hide the bruises the stained his jaw.

'Well, if you lot aren't the sweetest sight I've set eyes on in a while,' he grinned, rubbing his wrists appreciatively as Imoen moved down to free his feet, 'I was wondering if you'd make an appearance.'

'You know us?' questioned Jaheira behind her, her voice tinged with suspicion.

'Aye, know _of_ you, at least. Though you look different from the description I got from Tazok's ravings.' He grinned broadly again, turning back to give Fritha an amiable wink, 'Very uncomplimentary.'

'S-Sorry?'

Endar frowned at last, glancing round at them all, before his eyes return to her once more, as she helped him to stand.

'You'll be the mercs who raided the Nashkel mines?'

Fritha nodded and the grin was back before she could blink.

'Aye, I knew it… Tazok's been wanting you dead for a long while now. Shame he wasn't here; I owe him a debt of pain. Though I wonder if we're out of the woods yet, your fight can't have been quiet and these aren't your ordinary bandits.'

'Yes, we know,' interjected the druid brusquely, 'Black Talon and Chill. But the real question is still the same. Who is Tazok working for?'

Endar shrugged loosely, gesturing to the bodies as he spoke.

'Can't say for sure. Crush and Khosann, both thought he was getting orders from the Zhents, and Tazok doesn't do much to discourage that particular line of thinking. But the Black Talons and Chill are bandit groups, see. They play the trade routes, avoid the cities, and that's where they go wrong. I'm from the Gate and I can tell you dead as leather that the Zhentarim aren't behind this.'

'How d'you know?' asked Imoen with a glance to her and Fritha saw her own anticipation mirrored there. Could this be it? To finally know the architects of this pointless but bloody venture?

He grinned, his eyes suddenly hard.

'A desire for silence isn't the only reason I wear soft-soled boots. I wear 'em so I can tell whose toes I'm treading on. I didn't mess with no Zhentarim. I picked my enemies, and I messed with one group and one group only. The Iron Throne.'

A shout outside made everyone start.

'Oh dear.'

'Someone lock the door!'

'Here, in the chest,' Endar continued, pushing a large box towards Imoen, 'there're some documents that you'll want to take a look at.'

Fritha glanced back and forth from her to the door as the thief dropped to her knees, slipping her picks from her belt and began to work the lock, the shouts outside growing more urgent.

'Got them?'

'Just a second… yeah!' Imoen finally snapped, throwing open the lid and grabbing the handful of scrolls within, pushing them carelessly into her bag as Fritha whirled to face the door.

'Right, take this,' she ordered, grabbing a short sword from a nearby body and pushing it into Endar's hand, 'and stay back!'

It wasn't just to him though; it was to everyone. Jaheira looked for a second as though she would question her but then closed her mouth abruptly and nodded, sending a glare to the rest of them as though it had been they, not she, who had queried her. Fritha turned back, striding over to the door to pause, drawing a deep breath her hand on the latch. She could do this.

It was like he said; no one messed with the Zhents.

Fritha threw open the door and looked out, two dozen or so faces looking back up at her, pale and uncertain in the half-light. A short olive-skinned man moved forward from the group, thick black brows brought low in a frown.

'What's going on, you're not supposed to be in there, Tazok…'

Fritha stared down at him, watching the realisation dawn.

'They, they were having a meeting. You've killed them, I'll-'

He stepped forward, his sword drawn only for the man next to him to raise an arm, barring his way, and Fritha recognised the broad worn face of Raiken.

'You'll stay there and do as you're told!' he barked before turning back to her, 'So, they all dead?'

Fritha nodded slowly.

'Yes. We have what we came for… I see no need for further bloodshed.'

Raiken narrowed his eyes. 'So you leave, just like that?'

Fritha stared back at him, trying to will a hardness to her eyes.

'No, not quite like that. This camp disbands. Today. Go back to your masters and tell them the Zhentarim had no hand in this, they were hired by an organisation from the Gate, and we'll be going _there_ next. And tell them to keep out of the Sword Coast for a while too. I hear anyone's been causing trouble round here again, we won't be bothering to even clean our swords after you lot, we'll be coming straight for them, understand?'

He nodded, his eyes never leaving her for a second.

Fritha stepped down off the porch, heart in her throat waiting for the crowd to all swarm forward and close about them. But no one moved and, slowly at first, the way parted before her, people moving back, some almost stumbling in their effort to get out of her way and Fritha led them forward. For a moment, she felt god-like; an indescribable rush of brutal power coursing through her as she watched the men before her scurrying to get out of her path, but then her eyes caught a face in the crowd.

Tevan.

Unnaturally pale in the twilight, he watched her pass with something akin to horror and she felt her insides clench, cold and tight. He had led them to this camp and through no fault of his own, unless you were to hold the weakness of his will against him. What price would he have to pay now for his mistake?

They had reached the tree line by now, the murmur of the bandits thrumming in the air behind them as they finally disbanded. But she could still feel his eyes on her and she led them onward through the trees for longer than was necessary. And the image of the boy's face, pale and terrified, stayed with her longer still.

A good few miles they walked, southward through the darkening forest before Fritha finally seemed to feel they were far enough away, stopping in a likely clearing to suggest they make camp. Their new companion stayed long enough to take tea with them before politely taking his leave, claiming he had superiors to inform he wasn't dead, though whether it was fear that perhaps the bandits may try to track them, or an apprehension of something closer to home that drove him off, Jaheira could not guess. She herself had no fear of the former; the looks on the faces of those men as Fritha swept forward, parting them as earth before a plough. She suspected any one of them would rather dance merrily into the Abyss than actually come looking for them.

She glanced to the girl in question, now sat embroidering a green tunic she was sure had belonged to Imoen. However many times the druid told herself it had been an act, and quite a clever one too, which averted needless bloodshed and allowed them to escape unscathed, she still couldn't seem to shake the unease the girl stirred in her. She shivered slightly, Khalid moving to sweep the edge of his cloak over her shoulders with a smile that she wanly returned.

Why didn't they see it? Feel it. Only Dynaheir had noticed so far. But apart from mentioning it to her, she seemed no more concerned about it and was currently sat in quiet conversation with the girl, watching as a pattern of leaves was slowly worked across the cloth.

Jaheira turned from them, suddenly angry with herself. Fritha had done nothing to earn this suspicion. Yes, there was an aura of the unnatural about the girl, but through no fault of her own. Perhaps the Wychlaran had the measure of it, after all. The druid sighed, turning to the girl next to her, more for a distraction than any real curiosity.

'Let us hear what those scrolls have to say then.'

Dynaheir looked up sharply as Imoen began to rummage in her bag.

'I believed we were to leave such discussions until the morn?'

Jaheira shrugged; saved from replying as the thief gave a triumphant shout and pulled a handful of crumpled parchment from her bag.

'I _can_ read!' the girl continued archly, as Jaheira held out her hand for them, and after a moment the druid relented, pulling back her hand with a scowl as the Imoen began.

'This first letter's from a "Davaeorn". He's telling Tazok to get the iron they're stealing to the mine in Cloakwood as soon as possible.' Imoen pursed her lips slightly, as her eyes flew back over the note, checking she hadn't missed anything before taking up the second. 'Another one from Davaeorn. Tazok's to step up the raids and stockpile as much as he can before the ultimatum is given…' The girl shook her head, almost as though she were having trouble believing what she herself had just read out. 'So they're causing the iron shortage? Poisoning the mines and robbing any caravans that pass through, stealing the iron for themselves. Why?'

'Power,' answered Jaheira abruptly, vaguely wondering how she would send news of their discovery to the Harpers. 'By the sound of things, they're starving the Sword Coast of iron while mining it themselves. You have something someone else needs and you have power over them. And Amn getting the blame just serves their purpose even better; when more would you need iron that in a time of war…We have to visit that mine!' she finished, a sudden urgency filling her and silence held the camp, Imoen's eyes still moving over the letter as the girl read on.

'And listen to this "Also, have the band of mercenaries been killed yet? They better have been, as Sarevok won't be happy with any other news…" So it's them that have been sending the bounty hunters after you?' she continued to Fritha, passing the first letter to Jaheira without a glance. 'Yeah, that would make sense, they probably don't want anyone telling the authorities they're behind the iron shortage.'

Jaheira frowned; the thief's concern for her friend was evident, but it did little to keep her mind objective and pinning the bounty offer on the Iron Throne seemed a little too convenient for her liking.

'But weren't you attacked outside the Friendly Arm Inn?'

'Yeah,' Imoen dismissed; a definite air of desperation about her now, 'but Xzar and Montaron were going to investigate the iron shortage, a bounty could have been put on them, too.'

She glanced round at them all, the camp silent until at last a voice broke the stillness.

'Except… it can't have been.'

All eyes turned to Fritha, the girl finally laying down her sewing to speak, voice even and resigned.

'The bounty was on me, the assassin at the Friendly Arm recognised me…'

'Yeah, but-'

'When… when Gorion, when we met the bandits, they didn't just attack outright, they told him to hand me over first and he… he could go free.'

'You never-' began Imoen, the mix of surprise and hurt plain on her features before Fritha cut her off again.

'I was attacked in Candlekeep too, just after I left you… he, he was hiding in the priest's quarters.'

'Fritha…' Imoen breathed, staring at her friend as though she did not know her, 'why didn't you tell me?'

Fritha shook her head, not unhappy but there was a terseness to her voice as she answered.

'I don't know, everything was so complicated, after… afterwards, I just pushed it to the back of my mind.'

'So there are t-two bounties,' continued Khalid, gently drawing the conversation back as Fritha fell silent again, 'one on our group offered by the Iron Throne and one, ah…' his eyes flickered to the girl for the briefest of seconds, and she shrugged slightly, finishing the sentence for him.

'Just on me. That began before I even left Candlekeep, put forward by an unknown, but seemingly wealthy enemy, and for a reason I could not even begin to guess.'

Imoen sighed, casually tossing the second letter into her friend's lap.

'Well, at least we can get rid of one of them.'


	9. Cloakwood

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein.  
Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine. 

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Cloakwood**

The days had stayed warm and dry as they'd made their way west from the bandits' camp, leaving the Wood of Sharp Teeth for an even more foreboding locale: the Cloakwood.

One of the largest forests in the Western Heartlands, Jaheira had believed it would have been a trial without rival; the days of marching league upon league through the creature infested woodland, old and dark enough to hide worse than mere iron mines and bandits. But the way had been clear, and Minsc never seemed short of tracks to follow as they went deeper and deeper in their search for the Iron Throne's hidden mine. And, at last, that afternoon, they had found a solid lead; a group of druids met along their path telling them they knew of a mine situated but a few hours north of their position. And a couple of hours further along, they had finally stopped to make camp and prepare for the morrow, and whatever _that_ would bring them.

Jaheira closed her eyes as the cool evening breeze stirred her hair, her worries unable to penetrate the peace than filled her as she sat beneath the trees, the soft whispers of the forest mingling with the distant giggling of Imoen. The druid smiled. The girls had grown on her lately, and in a way she would not have thought possible. Yes, they had been annoying at times, especially Imoen, who seemed to take to irritating her just out of sheer boredom. But it had been nowhere as bad as she had made out and it was nice to see them behaving as normal girls again, the sounds of their laughter and talk following her as they brought up the rear, punctuated with the occasional snatch of song when, Jaheira suspected, Fritha thought the rest of them were too far ahead to hear her.

Another peal of laughter rang out from the undergrowth behind her and the druid shook her head. Imoen had decided, after a few days travel, that her skills need diversifying, or that was the reason she had given, and had finally, with a little help from her friend, convinced the Wychlaran to take her as apprentice. One girl occupied, Khalid had taken an friendly interest in Fritha, especially since he found she, unlike her friend, had never been formally trained with a bow, and he spent hours each evening supervising her on his, delighting in the speed of her progress.

Jaheira smiled warmly as she watched them now, shooting at a sapling a score or so yards away, the quiet encouragements of her husband drifting back to her on the evening air.

'Now, don't drop your elbow as you draw back… that is it. Keep your body in balance, like a cross.'

Khalid glanced back to catch her watching, and threw her a warm smile, leaning in to tell Fritha to continue without him as he moved to join her. Jaheira watched the girl a moment longer, dwarfed by the long yew frame of his bow until she finally turned to her husband, smiling gently.

'And how does our favourite pupil?'

'F-Fine, fine,' he answered genially, the proud teacher, 'her aim is definitely improved. And at least this way she won't have to resort to ruining her lute the next time she looses her sword.'

Jaheira winced slightly, recalling one of her sharper moments with the girl.

'My Khalid, you are patience personified.'

'Oh, she is no trouble-'

Jaheira laughed slightly, shaking her head. 'I was not referring to her…'

Khalid laughed too, moving to slip an arm about her waist and kiss her lightly.

'_You_ are a welcome torment.'

'Unlike some,' Jaheira sighed, turning as a shriek followed by some shrill Rashemi burst forth from the bushes behind them, shortly followed by the mage herself, Imoen at her heels.

'No, no more!' Dynaheir cried, storming into the camp before whirling back on the thief, 'those who cannot take instruction, do not deserve to be taught!'

'But, Dynaheir-'

'No! The discussion is over!'

'What's happened?' came a voice and Jaheira turned to see Fritha behind them, drawn back to camp by the noise, Khalid's bow still strung in her hand.

'Thy friend, against mine advisement and instruction, took it upon herself to memorize and attempt to cast a spell… with obvious results,' the Wychlaran explained, a slight smile pulling at her mouth as she showed them the large charred hole now burnt through her cloak.

'I didn't mean to!' whined Imoen, 'All we've been doing for _days_ is theory. I just wanted to see if I actually could!'

'Imoen…' Fritha sighed, an air of the disappointed mother about her as she shook her head, before returning her gaze to the mage, 'I'm sure it wasn't intentional, was it Imoen?'

The thief vehemently shook her head, trying to look ashamed, but Dynaheir seemed ready for this.

'Oh, no Fritha,' she smiled, shaking her own head, 'thine honeyed tongue is what induced me to teach her in the first place.'

Jaheira and Khalid shared a look; that wasn't quite true. Both the girls had begged and flattered for days to no avail. It had been Fritha's ruthless cunning that had finally won out and the druid couldn't help but smile as she recalled the looks of horror on their faces when Fritha had threatened that if Dynaheir didn't teach her friend, she would. Jaheira pulled her attention back to the group, Fritha stood before them now, between the two antagonists and keeping up a steady stream of appeasement.

'Please, Dynaheir, you know how much this means to Imoen. And she is very sorry about your cloak. We'll mend it, won't we?'

Jaheira shook her head and smiled. Ever the peacemaker. Indeed; a few earnest promises and heartfelt apologies later, Dynaheir had softened enough to "consider it" and Jaheira was sure Imoen would be a source of magical trouble again before the tenday's end.

'Ho there,' came a voice behind her and Jaheira turned with the others to see Minsc finally return from his hunt, a brace of plump grey rabbits hanging from his bow.

'Good hunting, I see,' she commented as he joined them, the man sitting down at her side with a sigh.

'So it was. But we should set about to cooking them soon; Boo may have his seeds, but Minsc is very hungry.'

'Fair enough, I shall go and fetch some water,' Jaheira smiled, walking over to her pack to fetch her large iron cooking pot. 'Imoen, start stripping the rest of the wild garlic we gathered yesterday. And the rabbits will need cleaning.'

'I'll do it,' offered Fritha, passing Khalid's bow back to him with a smile and Jaheira nodded her agreement. The girl's skill with a knife was well known, skinning and cleaning their game with quick deft movements. The druid had been surprised by it at first, until Imoen had informed her that Fritha had spent most of her free time back at the Keep helping out in the kitchens.

'_Ra-bbits, ra-bbits_' the girl sang, taking the sleek limp bodies from Minsc and dancing them over to Imoen who squealed and tried to bat her away.

Jaheira rolled her eyes as she fought against a smile. 'Fritha! Stop playing with them and get on with it.'

The girl threw her a roguish grin, making one of the rabbits salute and Imoen snorted into her lapful of leaves as Fritha skipped over to the far edge of the camp and began her task.

An hour later and all were gathered about the fire, eating the stew with the way-bread that formed the staple of every meal since they had entered the forest; Imoen's complaints that it was the _only_ thing they seemed to eat anymore, sparking off a discussion on what they missed most about their homes.

'My sisters in magic.'

'The beautiful snowfields, so full of danger!'

'The northern forests of Tethyr.'

'Oh, ah, the s-sunrise over Calimport harbour.'

'Fritha?' prompted Jaheira to the girl next in the circle, who shrugged shyly.

'I don't know really… just little things.'

'Come now,' chided Dynaheir with a smile, 'we all have many things we could miss about home, thou must decide upon one.'

'What do you miss then?' Fritha continued, turning to the girl sat next to her. Imoen smiled fondly.

'Having lunch in the refectory.'

Jaheira snorted. 'We should have guessed it would have something to do with food!'

'No, it wasn't like that. If you got there early, it was really nice. The refectory's all light and airy and I don't know, it was peaceful…' Imoen trailed off looking a touch embarrassed, turning her attention back to her friend, 'So have you decided yet?'

'Yes,' Fritha nodded, suddenly all-decisive, 'I miss the books.'

'The books?' repeated Imoen and Fritha smiled, her eyes shining as she gazed off into the distance, clearly revelling in some lost feeling.

'Yes, I miss being surrounded by all that knowledge, the sheer potential of it. To wake up every day and know by the end of it I could have learnt some more under-common or another tale from Kara-Tur or the Midsummer dance of Amaunator.'

'Thou learnt dances?' exclaimed the Wychlaran, giving a voice to most of their thoughts and Fritha nodded, pulling her attention back to them with a grin.

'Yes, though no one bar Imoen, Beth and Gorion knew. Whelan once caught me practising from a book in the archives, but I told him I was trying to get a spider out of my tunic.'

Imoen snorted into her hand, dissolving into giggles as Fritha finally straightened, hefting her bag on to her shoulder.

'Right, I'm going for a wash before it gets dark. Coming, Imoen?'

The girl just nodded, still regaining her composure as she gathered their dirty dishes and Jaheira fought back a frown with little success.

'Really, Fritha-' she began with a sigh before the thief cut her off.

'Gods, Jaheira, you do this every time! Fritha says she's going for a wash, you complain, we go, everything's fine, the end.'

The druid smiled in spite of herself.

'Well, I just cannot understand why. The rest of us seem to be able to manage for a few days without washing.'

Imoen grinned. 'Yeah, well, the blood will out.'

'What?'

Fritha looked back sharply, reaching out to tug insistently at the girl's sleeve, looking highly uncomfortable.

'Come on, Imoen, let's go.'

'Fritha's mum,' Imoen continued proudly, batting away her hand, 'was a noblewomen.'

Khalid raised an interested eyebrow.

'I d-did not know you had any memories of your mother, Fritha.'

The girl sighed, shooting Imoen a dark look as she let the bag fall from her shoulder to rest on the ground at her feet, the strap slack in her hand.

'I don't. Gorion told me bits now and then. Usually whenever I asked though, it was the "wrong time for such a discussion". He said he'd tell me once I was older… bit late now, isn't it?' she added with a shrug, despondently kicking a stick back into the fire.

Jaheira felt a pang of empathy. She had been just a child when her castle fell as part of a bloody revolution that saw the end of many of the noble houses in Tethyr. She remembered little of her murdered family and the druids, into whose care she was placed, knew even less. Though their sermons on the cyclical nature of life and the Balance, had led her on to the path she walked now, they had been of little comfort at the time and though she knew it word for word, she would beg the arch-druid until hoarse for the story of how she'd come to them. Of the maid who had brought her and what she had said of her family; the old druid's words, only link to them she had.

'What _do_ you know?' Jahiera asked, glancing up to the girl, her voice coming soft and unfamiliar to her. Fritha shrugged.

'Only that she was a lady of the Elven Court at Ashabenford; a half-elf, which means my father must have been one too. Gorion said she was a friend of his and died shortly after I was born.'

'That is _all_?' exclaimed Jaheira incredulously, 'No description of her appearance, her tastes, nothing?'

Fritha just shrugged again though, seeming more surprised at the concern she was showing. Jaheira shook her head, letting the subject drop and watched as Fritha grabbed her bag and disappeared into the forest with Imoen. She understood Gorion must have had his reasons, but to keep so much from her…  
Khalid must have noticed her withdrawal, for he moved closer, putting an arm about her and Jaheira leaned into the embrace, taking comfort from the contact. It had taken her a long time when she was growing-up to exorcise her demons, she often wondered what sort of person she would have become, had the druids not taken her in as a child, had it not been necessary…

She sighed and shook herself, consigning such things to the past. The future, that was where her focus should lie. Finding out more about the Iron Throne… and keeping them all alive while they did so.

xxx

Imoen glanced to her friend as they walked the fifty yards or so to the stream, its gentle roar growing louder with each step. There seemed a strangeness to the air that evening, the previous talk of Candlekeep and their confessions awakening unfamiliar feelings in her.

'Fritha,' she began slowly, throwing an almost wary glance to the girl at her side, 'did you mean what you said about missing the books?'

Fritha shrugged slightly, holding a branch out of her path until she'd passed.

'Yes, why, don't you?'

'Not really, I always found the Keep a bit… constricting. Learning from Steen was the only good bit about it.' Imoen eyed her curiously. 'What else do you miss?'

'Just being there I suppose, watching the people go about their lives.'

'You were spying on people?' she exclaimed, suddenly impressed.

Fritha frowned slightly. 'No, not spying, just observing what they showed everyone else. You can learn a lot from just watching people.'

'Like what?'

'Whelan hates Archmage Jesseth. He always tried to avoid seeing him when he could and if they did meet, Whelan's lip would curl up slightly, like what he really thought of him was fighting to get out.'

'Ooo, what else?' said Imoen keenly, as they finally reach the water, but Fritha just shrugged, strangely quiet as she moved behind a bush to undress and Imoen changed the subject.

'So how many dances do you think you know now?' she asked, turning from her to sit in the long grass.

'Well, not including the ones everyone knows, about two dozen or so, but most of them are temple dances and pretty archaic ones at that.'

'Will you teach me?'

'Imoen,' Fritha cried, a head and bare shoulders suddenly reappearing, 'you've asked me this before and we tried. You don't have the patience for it.'

'That was ages ago. I'm better now…' she whined, watching as Fritha raised an eyebrow, a certain incident with a spell and Dynaheir's cloak perhaps indicating the contrary, though her friend said nothing.

'So will you?' Imoen continued, turning her back again as Fritha moved from undergrowth.

'If I must.'

The sounds of gentle splashing filled the air and a sharp intake of breath signalled when it was safe to face her again, and sure enough Imoen turned to see her friend sat in the stream, the slow moving water swirling about her shoulders.

'How's the water?'

'Cold,' she grinned, tipping her head back to wet her hair before leaning over to the bank and emptying her bag gently.

'Gods, how many do you need?' cried Imoen incredulously, eyeing the myriad of bottles that now strewed the grass before her like jewels.

'I like to have a variety,' Fritha answered primly, selecting one of the larger tubs and scooping some of the paste on to her shoulder. 'Careful, that one's expensive.'

Imoen gingerly replaced the cap on a small bottle that smelt strongly of magnolias, laying it gently back in the grass and leaning over the bank to rinse out the dishes and Jaheira's large iron cooking pot.

'What's that then?' she questioned with a nod to the mixture Fritha was now rubbing briskly along her arms.

'A paste of powdered walnut shells and cinnamon.'

Imoen leant forwards with a laugh. 'Hey, so it is! You smell like biscuits!'

Fritha laughed too, making to splash her and grabbing another jar from the bank, opening it to drop a green misshapen lump of soap into her waiting hand, drawing it through her hair and across her scalp to build up a lather. Imoen watched as she leaned back again, rinsing the foam away before reaching out to collect another bottle from the bank and pouring a generous measure into her cup.

'Lemon juice. It makes it shiny,' she explained with a grin, filling the rest of the cup with water to pour the contents over her head. 'There, done.'

Imoen dropped her gaze to the grass as Fritha rose and slipped back behind the bush to struggle into her tunic and trousers before she threw herself down next to her, vigorously rubbing her hair in a towel, her voice muffled.

'Imoen could you get my comb out, please?'

Imoen smiled, pulling over her bag and pushing a hand in. But the first thing it fell upon was not a comb, but a long narrow box, the dark wood gleaming richly, the only mark upon the surface, the letters "E H" inlaid in brass upon the lid. Curiosity seized her and Imoen threw a last wary glance to Fritha before quickly upending the bag, emptying the contents onto the grass before them.

'Imoen!' cried Fritha, pushing the hair from her face to eye her crossly.

'I was just looking for your comb!' she replied, trying to look injured but feeling increasing uncomfortable under her friend's reproachful glare and Imoen dropped her gaze, unable to believe what she saw as her eyes fell on the grass and the treasures that now lay between them. Tiny bottles of every colour filled with oils, sticks of pigment, boxes in every size and shade of wood and, in the centre of it all, gleaming, a polished bronze hand mirror, two cast snakes coiling up from the handle to hold the disk in place. She gingerly opened the box she had seen first to reveal a set of rosewood combs, the spine of each carved as intricately as any lace.

'What is all this?' Imoen breathed, sliding open a long thin case to reveal a set of pressed-powder cones, the sudden aroma almost making her sneeze.

'They're incense cones,' Fritha answered slowly, taking the first from the box and rolling it gently between thumb and forefinger, 'Kara-Turan ladies use them to scent their clothes.' She dropped the cone back into the box, her eyes distant as she brought her fingers to her nose. 'Jasmine and orange blossom, I think.'

Imoen just shook her head, laying them gently back in the grass to unroll a pouch of shining silver instruments that could have easily been mistaken for a travel-sized torture kit. There was no way Fritha could have bought any of this; not on the money Jaheira allowed them both. And even if she had found them in some market somewhere, why not show her? Why be so secretive about it?

'Fritha, where d'you get all this.'

The girl looked uncomfortable, finally picking her comb from amongst the clutter and beginning to brush out her hair and Imoen could hardly believe how it looked it until,

'Beth gave them to me.'

'The _cook_?' exclaimed Imoen with amazement, thinking back to the stout middle-aged woman who ran the Keep's kitchen with a firm hand.

'She wasn't always a cook, you know,' said Fritha sharply, as though Imoen's exclamation had been an attack, 'she used to be a singer until her voice went; she collected these on her travels.'

'And she gave it all to you? Why?'

'Well… she gave me those first,' Fritha began, pointing to the rolled pouch of vicious-looking instruments, 'and the rest just as and when she felt like it. To be honest, I didn't really have much use for them at the time; I suppose she overestimated my maturity. Then, one by one, I just started to use them, simple as that. I've still to touch the incense, or the pigments.'

'Yeah, but _why_?' Imoen pressed, Fritha's way of talking round the subject only making her curiosity fiercer. Fritha would not meet her gaze though and when she finally did answer, it was all in a rush, as though saying it faster would lessen the effect.

'She gave me them because Gorion had asked her to tell me something, and I think she thought I would be upset afterwards.'

Imoen paused; it was so unlike Fritha to keep anything from her, she was slightly apprehensive to question further.

'What did she tell you, Fritha?'

Her friend sighed, before straightening, squaring her shoulders to catch her with that near black gaze.

'She asked me a few questions and then told me there was a strong possibility I could never have children.'

For a split second, Imoen was sure her heart actually stopped. She stared at her friend, half expecting her to break into a stupid grin, to tell her it was a joke and that it served her right for being so nosey. But Fritha just watched her impassively; the comb still in her hand and Imoen felt her stomach groan.

'You mean…'

Fritha nodded curtly.

'Yes.'

'I- I'm sorry.'

'Please don't feel awkward, Imoen,' she finally relented, her previous distance gone as she laid a hand on her arm, 'it's fine.'

'It is?'

Fritha drew back with a shrug, staring blankly at the objects as she spoke.

'Well, I don't know how to feel, really. Beth seemed surprised at how well I took it too; I think it's one of those things I won't really understand the weight of until I'm older.' She sighed gently, taking one of the long silver implements and twirling between her fingers as she continued.

'But she gave me the set all the same and showed me what each piece was for. It was quite fun really, and I think she enjoyed it too. Every now and then, I'd go to practise and she'd be there with a new treasure for me. The mirror, the incense, the combs. We would play with them for a bit, just talking about life and things and then suddenly she would get quite solemn and say how pretty I was becoming or how my singing was improving, and then she would make a present of them to me.'

Fritha shook her head, smiling gently to herself. 'It was like she was passing on her legacy. She has no children of her own, you know.'

Finally, she looked to her again and Imoen found it hard to return her gaze. It was so strange; before they'd left Candlekeep, she would sworn that no-one knew her friend better that she did, but now…

'Oh, Fritha, I'm sorry,' she breathed again, feeling suddenly tearful.

'Don't be,' Fritha answered briskly, rising to gather up her belongings from the grass. 'I wouldn't have a child right now, would I, so it seems a bit silly to get upset about it. Besides, the way things are at the moment, I probably won't live long enough for it to become a problem. Pass me that bottle, will you.'

Imoen just nodded, Fritha's dismissive practicality making her feel, if possible, even worse. She tossed the last bottle into the bag Fritha was holding open and together the two made their way back to camp.

When they arrived, only Jaheira, Dynaheir and a loaded silence were about to greet them and Fritha wondered whether another argument had been enjoyed in their absence, though neither woman seemed particularly displeased. Fritha nodded a greeting, crossing the camp to sit opposite them, rooting in her pack to draw out the dented metal dish that usually served her as mirror and a fine pair of silver tweezers.

'Where are the men?' she heard Imoen ask as she began her task, eyes watering as she teased the first hair out from just beneath the arch of her brow.

'Walking the boundary to check for tracks,' Jaheira answered. 'I think our element of surprise may be somewhat reduced if bandits come wandering merrily through here as we sleep- what in the name of vanity are you doing now?' she added tersely, finally noticing her, but Fritha ignored the woman, focusing all attention on a particularly stubborn hair.

'Oh really, Jaheira,' Dynaheir laughed condescendingly, though whether in defence of her or just to annoy the druid, Fritha could not tell. 'The girl is just performing her duty to herself and making the best of what she has- and such a lot to work with too,' she added with a warm smile and Fritha watched her reflection flush, angling the mirror to hide it from the others. Somehow compliments from Dynaheir, "a _proper _girl" as Imoen had confirmed her, meant more than other peoples'.

'What _are_ you doing?' asked Imoen peering around the curved edge of the plate, her friend's curiosity piqued by all this discussion.

'Plucking my eyebrows,' Fritha answered before giving another sharp flick of her wrist, finally catching the last stray hair and laying the dish back down in her lap.

'_What_?' Imoen cried, clearly horrified by just the thought of it, 'Why?'

Fritha shrugged slightly, not really sure she had an answer.

'Just keeps them tidy and gives the face definition.'

Imoen leaned in closer, peering at them critically. 'When did you start doing that?'

'About a year ago.' Fritha smiled, unconsciously running a finger over a delicately curved brow, 'Beth did it the first time, as it can be hard to know which hairs to take out without practice, and I've carried on ever since. I can do yours, if you like?' she offered, clicking the slender silver tweezers together playfully and patting her leg with her free hand.

Imoen considered the instrument warily, the battle between her fear and natural curiosity playing out on her face. At last she nodded, slowly approaching on her hands and knees like some sort of wild creature, before flipping over on to her back and laying with her head in Fritha's lap. Fritha laid her hands gently upon the girl's forehead, holding the skin of the brow taut between two fingers while in the other hand the tweezers were poised, ready. They flashed for a second in the firelight and,

'AH!'

'What?'

'What d'you mean _"what"_? It bloody hurt, that's what!' Imoen cried over the laughter of the two women, sitting up with such speed they nearly bumped heads.

'Oh, Imoen don't be such a cissy, you've had worse than this.'

'Not voluntarily, I haven't!' she snapped, batting the tweezers away, 'My eyebrows can just stay as they are, bushy and pain free.'

'The first sensible comment you've made all evening,' announced Jaheira with a sanctimonious nod.

'What?' gasped Fritha, grabbing Imoen's arm with theatrical shock, 'Did I just hear you and Jaheira _agree_ on something?'

It was hard to tell who looked more perturbed, the druid or the thief.

'Now what's going on here?' came a voice and Khalid appeared opposite her, walking through the undergrowth to rejoin the group, Minsc at his heels, 'I heard Imoen cry out, is Dynaheir finally taking r-retribution for her cloak?'

The gathering laughed, Dynaheir answering with an easy smile. 'Imoen is just learning a vital life lesson; beauty is pain.'

'Ah, this is true, very true,' agreed Minsc, moving to sit next to Dynaheir, nodding wisely. 'The female berserkers of our clan cover their _entire_ bodies in beautiful tattoos to show their glory and prowess in battle, and, as Minsc well knows, tattoos hold a pain that make even Boo cower,' he laughed, slapping his bald head and the vivid violet circle that adorned it.

'By Mask, Minsc!' exclaimed Imoen with a wince, and Fritha was with her. So used to seeing the man as a whole, it was easy to forget that he was not born the great ranger who travelled with them now. 'Right on your skull too, that must have been excruciating.'

'True, it was very painful- but it was a pain I relished!' he continued, slapping his hands together with a grin, 'This tattoo was given to me when I became a full warrior; the fledglings of our clan use something else, in your language it is known as woad, I think.'

'Woad?' repeated Imoen, and the Wychlaran smiled.

'It is a type of blue dye; made from a plant of the same name.'

'D'you have any tattoos, Dynaheir?'

Her smile broaden and she gave the thief an appraising look before beckoning her forward, turning her back on the group as she did so.

'Unlace my robes.'

Her friend moved tentatively to untie them, clearly finding it stiffer than first anticipated and after a moment of her struggling, Fritha rolled her eyes and moved forward to take over, parting the heavy indigo fabric and the cream of the chemise beneath to reveal the Wychlaran's long smooth back, a pattern of black vines creeping up her spine.

'That's beautiful,' Imoen breathed, sitting back on her haunches as Fritha re-laced her robes, 'I want one!'

'Imoen! A moment ago you were complaining about having your eyebrows plucked!'

Everyone laughed at that, even the girl in question, Fritha tapping Dynaheir's shoulder to let her know she'd finished, the girl moving back to her spot as Minsc continued.

'Boo says tattoos are for warriors and witches, not for little girls.'

'Yeah?' snapped Imoen; any mention of her age guaranteed to rile her, 'well you just tell Boo we're not so _little_.'

'Speak for yourself,' said Fritha airily, 'I'm _very_ immature.'

Khalid smiled, laying a hand each on both their shoulders as he stood.

'Well, old or young, we have much to do on the m-morrow and I think it would be best if we bedded down for the night. I shall t-take first watch.'

'I'll second,' volunteered another as Fritha moved to unpack her bedding, Imoen following her to do the same, neither girl due to take a turn on watch that night.

'Well, I don't care what they say; soon as I'm able, I'm getting one,' her friend whispered, giving her a grin as they made up their beds.

'What will you get?'

'I don't know, a pattern… or maybe an animal, like a phoenix or a dragon…'

Fritha grinned as she slipped between the blankets; she had a good feeling that they wouldn't get past one talon before Imoen lost her nerve. She glanced to her friend now, Imoen laid on her back staring wistfully at the dark sky, no doubt considering her choice, before she turned to catch her watching and smiled.

'What would you have?'

Fritha grinned. 'I'd get the fingering for F reduced on the back of my hand; I never can remember it.'

'Fritha!'

'You two- shush!' barked Jaheira from across the fire and Fritha smirked, nestling down under her blankets, the last thing she saw as she closed her eyes, Imoen's face smiling back at her.

xxx

Fritha closed her eyes, a shiver running through her, the girl unable to hear the others over the roar of water that still echoed in her ears. Another trek through dank, sunless tunnels behind them, another handful of tattered parchment to show for it.

Mines!

Never again would she wander the tunnels of those hand-hewn necropolises! Always layer upon layer of trouble and death; the twisting hells of Pandemonium knew more peace!

The roar in her ears seemed to grow louder, the deafening crash of water as she imagined the river filling the tunnels beneath them. How could they? How could _she_? How on Toril had they justified it to themselves? To confront someone, to challenge them, offer up a choice and then attack. That was one thing… but just to trick them, to kill without warning? She glanced round at them all; her friends mingling with the rescued miners, their faces so drawn and gaunt they looked like skulls.

It had seemed like such a simple plan down there, in that dark twisted place, the tunnels all winding in on themselves like the belly of some great monster. Free the miners, flood the mine.

And she had been so afraid, watching Minsc and Khalid break the river seal, willing them more speed as they tore along the tunnel to the waiting lift, water surging in behind them as they travelled up the shaft. It was only there, under the clear dusk sky, that she had calmed enough to think on the consequences and the horror of it all had seized her.

What if some of the miners had still been down there? Even Rill admitted he could not account for all of them. And what of the guards left, unaware of the danger… they may have surrendered, given a choice… She had always been afraid of drowning. Ever since she'd been swept out of her depth as a child in the bay below Candlekeep.

Fritha shivered again, knowing her cloak would do nothing but pulling it about her all the same, leaning into it almost as an embrace.

'Fritha, do you have-' began Imoen turning to her, the girl's face suddenly shaded with concern as she noticed her. 'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine, just cold.'

'Oh, all right. Jaheira wants to know if you have the scrolls we found in Davearon-'

'Davaeorn!' Fritha corrected angrily; they had killed him but an hour before, the least Imoen could do was remember his name! But the girl seemed not to notice, carrying on with a nonchalant shrug.

'Yeah, him. Well, do you-?'

'Here,' Fritha cut her off, pushing the tightly rolled letters into her hand and turning away, not caring what they would say.

She felt Imoen pause behind her, clearly confused before she heard the girl sigh and move off, taking the few paces back to the group and rustling through the papers as she went.

'Spell, map of the mines, ah, here we are.' She cleared her throat theatrically and began, 'Letter dated Alturiak 1367 from, Rieltar to Davaeorn. He's sending over some new slaves and they have taken residence in an ancient building in the west of Baldur's Gate.'

'1367…' Khalid murmured, half to himself before he glanced about at them all, 'this has been long in the planning…'

Fritha closed her eyes again. Long in the planning… but they, their group had not been planned on and now they were to be stopped, at any cost… but who had really paid so far?

'Also,' continued Imoen, 'he's to prepare for a visit. Sarevok is stopping in on his way to Nashkel to inspect his progress.' The girl paused, glancing over it one last time before passing it to Jaheira, 'That's all.'

'Sarevok, that name again.'

Fritha frowned, pulling her cloak even tighter as an unknown worry filled her. Yes, _that_ name. The name among many that had forced her hand so far…

'Quite, b-but this time it seems there is only one place left to find him.'

Fritha turned, gazing northeast to where the sky was already darkening to rich indigo.

'Baldur's Gate'


	10. Baldur's Gate

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Baldur's Gate**

Fritha sighed, staring through the few trees on the forest's edge to the farmland that lay beyond, the unripe wheat rippling with the breeze like a great green sea. They had seemed to take an age, those last few days it had taken to travel to Baldur's Gate, a city she had heard of so many times, it felt as though she had always been meant to go there.

But the idea of the city and whom she might find within its walls filled her with nothing but trepidation, feelings not helped by the dreams that had haunted her every night since the flood at the mines. Struggling to stay afloat in some vast trackless sea while the bloated corpses of the drowned reached up with mouldering hands to pull her under. And as Imoen's excitement had risen with each passing day, Fritha had found it harder still to give a voice to her increasing sense of dread, until it seemed to take physical form; a great dark weight coiled beneath her chest.

'Fritha, look!' Imoen cried at her side and she glanced northward to see the pale grey of battlements just cresting the horizon.

They had arrived.

The towers she had first seen though had turned out to be merely the bridge to the city and, tall as they were, it was another hour before she found herself crossing the languid waters that enclosed the Gate. The sun was low by now, pouring gold over the high walls before her, reflecting on roofs and windows within to make the city gleam like some rough jewel.

'Fritha?'

She glanced up to see Imoen staring at her and the thief silently pointed ahead, Fritha turning to see a tall gangly guard looking down at them with interest.

'The entrance tax is six gold pieces for each party of travellers. Please announce your point of origin.'

'Candlekeep.'

He frowned slightly, casting an eye over the group behind her as he spoke.

'You'll have to wait here, my commander wishes to have a word with you.'

Fritha watched him turn, walking over to a door in the base of the nearest bridge tower and disappear through, reappearing moments later with an older man at his back, his greying hair cropped short and a long thin scar running from eyebrow to jaw.

'First off, let me introduce myself. I'm Peric Scarrendale, second in command of the Flaming Fist, though around here I'm just known as Commander Scar. Though it is not necessary for you to reveal your names, please answer me this, are you the group that was involved in the fiasco at the Nashkel mines?'

Fritha felt the group exchange wary glances behind her as she, without pride or shame, answered.

'Yes, that was us.'

He nodded, his face still stern.

'Well, I have to say, you've made quite the commotion up here, and made yourselves quite the reputation as folks that can be trusted, and that is something this city sorely needs. I can't really put my finger on a single source, but there have been many strange happenings going on within the city.' He sighed slightly, looking uncomfortable as he continue. 'I'm sure you've your own business to be getting on with, but I ask you this. If you notice anything unusual, anything at all, please report it back to me at the Flaming Fist compound in the west of the city.'

Fritha nodded once to show she'd understood and, after a moment, he nodded too, returning to the tower as the remaining guard silently ushered them past, through the great yawning gate and into the city.

Those first few seconds were an assault on her senses as the overwhelming vastness of the place assailed her. The reek of food and smoke and sewage. The rattle of carts, the shouts of the merchants and, overhead, clouds of gulls cried to each other. And the buildings! A myriad of greys and browns stretching off as far as she could see in an unnatural cubic landscape. But what truly overwhelming was the people; the all-pervading presence of them. Hundreds of them swarming about her, all crammed into the city like some great ants' nest and Fritha had never encountered anything so abhorrent in her life.

'Such bustle!' exclaimed a voice next to her and she looked up to see Dynaheir, her expression pulled into one of delighted awe. 'The cities of Rashemen are empty by comparison.'

Fritha nodded, but she couldn't share her joy and only just managed a weak smile as Imoen turned to her, beaming, the girl excitedly grabbing her arm to pull her after the others as they moved off into the press. In fact, only Jaheira seemed to share her unease, the woman stood where they had gathered by a building a few yards from the gate with her arms folded, lips pressed together in a thin pale line.

'Right,' the druid began as they approached, 'our first priority should be lodgings, then we can-'

'Jaheira!' cried Imoen at her side, thankfully letting go of her arm as she did so, allowing Fritha to distance herself from what was bound to be another argument. 'We've only just arrived! Can't we explore a bit first, get our bearings?'

'By Silvanus, girl! This is not some outing! We have serious matters to attend to, ones which could affect the entire Sword Coast!'

'Now d-dearest,' interrupted Khalid soothingly, 'don't you think you're being a little harsh.'

'Yes,' agreed Dynaheir, 'melodrama will serve no purpose.'

'_Melodrama_?' the druid repeated, whirling on the smiling Wychlaran with barely control ferocity and Fritha took the opportunity to turn away, leaving them to their bickering.

At one time a mere distraction, she found their arguments distressing lately, the heightened tensions only adding to her feelings of unease, and she moved with laden steps to stand next to some boxes piled just inside the walls, away from the crowds hurrying in and out through the great archway. A theatrical sigh behind her and the rattle of wood and, with half an idea of who it would be, Fritha turned to take in scarlet travel-worn robes and tall crooked hat; Elminster had arrived.

'Good day to thee, young one,' he smiled, looking up at her from where he was sat on an obliging crate, his blue eyes sparkling. 'What a marvellous happenstance that we should again cross paths, especially in such a grand city as this.'

She just stared back at him, wondering vaguely if he thought he was being amusing, and the old mage's eyes seemed to loose some of their life.

'Ah, I see that thou've no time for my wry banter,' he continued with a gentle smile, leaning his staff against the chest next to him, 'tis true, our meeting was no accident, though I do honestly take pleasure in seeing thee again.'

'Why have you sought me out?'

He sighed, and genuinely this time, her manner clearly the cause. But after days of pretence for the others' benefit, Fritha found she hadn't the energy to perform for him as well.

'Forgive my continued meddling, but I believe it is warranted, especially considering the pressures thou art no doubt confronting. _My _pestering of thee certainly pales in comparison to the influence thou've felt from others,' he paused, looking up at her with grave eyes, 'including thine own self. 'Tis hard indeed to overcome what is bred in the bone, much more so in this case, I would imagine, but Gorion raised thee as best he could.'

Fritha smiled slightly at the mention of her father's name, but sadness tinged it. He had left her when she seemed to need him most and to remember him just reminded her of what she'd lost.

'Gorion… it seems I knew very little of him…'

Elminster smiled, gazing out at memories of his own. 'He was long my friend and we talked often, though less so after he settled down with thee. He felt a stable childhood would better prepare thee for… well… the problems that would eventually come. He cared deeply for thee…'

Her eyes felt hot and Fritha swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, turning to watch some children playing by the gate, not wanting him to see the tears fall.

'But Gorion was right about thee, in more ways than one. Thou've a good heart, child, and let no one tell thee otherwise. My worry is that thy lineage is harder to escape than most.'

'What are you talking about?' she asked, whirling back to the man, 'What do you know of my lineage?'

But Elminster just shook his head, dismissing her question as he continued.

'You've bad blood in thee, hungry blood, and it will not let thee go without a fight. For better or worse, what's bred in the bone will be dealt with in time. I trust thou've the will to face what's within thee?'

He looked up at her, searching her eyes for an answer and she turned from him again, staring out the gate to the plains beyond, feeling a sudden obstinate strength rise within her heart. Bad blood, had she? Well, she'd show them what her blood could do; she'd show them all.

'I will do as I must,' she replied, a certain steel behind her words before she turned back to him with a shrug, 'What choice have I?'

He shook his head, looking suddenly old as he rose stiffly from his seat to embrace her.

'I am sorry if I brought thee melancholy, child, I am sure the future will be kind to thee. But, for now, I take my leave and wish thee well.'

He patted her shoulder gently as they parted, before replacing his hat, gathering up his staff and he was gone.

'Fritha! Hey, Fritha!' Imoen shouted behind her and Fritha turned to see her jogging across, the rest of the group watching them from over the girl's shoulder. 'What are you doing? I just looked up and you were gone. Come on, Jaheira says there's an inn near here.'

Wordlessly, she followed.

It seemed Jaheira had finally ended the argument Imoen had started and the group took a western street, weaving through the crowds until Jaheira paused outside a large whitewashed building, the blue sign above the door proclaiming in a fine ornate hand "The Elfsong". The druid led them in, the bar surprisingly light for a public house though the air still held the tang of stale beer and pipe smoke. Three rooms were taken, with her and Imoen sharing as usual, a cheerful maid taking them up the narrow stairs to the fourth floor and showing each pair their rooms in turn before leaving them to unpack.

Fritha moved into the small simple room, the door banging against the tall dresser that was crammed behind it. It was only just large enough for the two beds that rested in each corner, either side of the window she was now stood opposite. But it was clean; the stark white walls softened by the warm yellow quilts that covered each bed. The window faced northward and through it she could see the city again, laid out before her and drenched in gold as it had been outside the walls.

'Which bed do you want?' came a voice behind her and Fritha half-turned to see her friend glancing about the room appraisingly before her eyes came to rest on her.

She shrugged, dumping her pack onto the right one and Imoen laughed.

'Good, 'cause I wanted this one.'

They spent the next few moments unpacking, the familiarity of the routine and Imoen's blithe chatter serving to calm her, and when Jaheira called in to fetch them down to dinner an hour or so later, she found them both sprawled across Imoen's bed, giggling over one of the theif's old love letters.

' "…My thoughts are haunted by your verdant eyes…", ' Fritha read aloud, her friend laughing as she pretended to swoon. 'Leit… who would have believed it?' she continued, thinking back to Candlekeep and the shy gangly lad who had served there as a guard.

'You know his friend, Druis, liked you…' said Imoen, taking the well-fingered parchment back to gaze over it fondly.

'I know,' Fritha nodded and Imoen glanced up sharply, clearly surprised she'd managed to notice until she explained, 'Beth told me. He didn't send me any letters though,' she continued with a sigh, 'preferring instead, to express his regard through the medium of picking on me during sword practise.'

Imoen snorted, lost to giggles as the door opened behind them.

'Well, it looks as though you two have settled in well enough,' the druid remarked and Fritha smiled, rising to haul Imoen to her feet before following the woman out. The Gate was just a place like any other; as long as they were all together, nothing would come to trouble.

xxx

Fritha lay in bed, her mind awake even as her body still held an air of rest. She had found it hard to sleep that night, unable to stop her mind going over and over the plans they had made together at dinner, to make quiet inquiries into the Iron Throne and gather evidence to expose them. And this, combined with the unfamiliar noises of the city that seemed to start her every time she had been close to sleep, meant it was the early hours of the morning before she'd managed to drift off. In fact, the only reason she was awake now, was that for the first time since she could remember, Imoen had awakened before her and was currently clattering about the room as she dressed.

Fritha yawned widely, finally giving up on the idea of sleep and opening her eyes to watch her friend who was now stood before the mirror combing her hair.

'Someone's up early.'

Imoen started slightly, turning back to her with a grin.

'Not really, you're just up late,' she answered with her usual cheek and Fritha smiled wryly.

'Is_ that _so? And here was me thinking it had something to do with the fact we're in the city.'

Her friend laughed, dropping to her knees beside the bed as Fritha propped herself up on an elbow.

'I refuse to believe you're not excited too. I mean, it's Baldur's Gate,' she breathed with a heady reverence, as though even the name held something for her, 'just imagine what we could find here, what we could do…'

'All this from the girl who didn't bat an eyelid in Beregost.'

But Imoen just laughed again, pestering her until she was out of bed before dancing out the door, telling her she'd see her at breakfast. Up and dressed, it was but moments later when Fritha left too, clattering down the stairs to the large open common room, the smell from the kitchens making her hungry as she joined her friends at their table.

Jaheira glanced up as Fritha finally appeared for breakfast, looking a little tired but nowhere near as drawn as she had the previous day and the druid felt her worries dissipate somewhat. The city had so clearly left her uneasy the day before and dinner had not left her much better, any mention of the Iron Throne always guaranteed to trouble her. But the girl seem well enough now as, sitting down and spooning yoghurt into her bowl as Imoen poured her some tea, the cook bustling over to lay the last of their dishes on the table.

'And here we are,' the woman trilled, setting down a trencher of bread, steam still rising from the first few slices, 'fresh from the ovens.'

'Look at that!' breathed Imoen, the months spent eating waybread clearly leaving their mark on her as she began to pile slice after slice upon her plate.

'That isn't bread,' Fritha laughed, leaning over and touching the light springy surface with obvious delight, 'that's sliced cloud!'

'Oh, hark at you!' laughed the cook, flushing with pleasure, 'here's something to complement the sweetness of your tongue,' she finished, setting a jar of yellow paste on the table before the girl.

'And lemon curd! I haven't had that since… well…'

Fritha tailed off looking momentarily lost before she grinned, heaping a healthy spoonful on top of her yoghurt and stirring it in.

'Ah, I would that all my customers were as easily pleased as you,' the cook sighed genially and Jaheira smiled as she watched the girls, Fritha laughing behind her hand at the amount of bread Imoen seemed to be attempting to stuff in her mouth, their foolishness brightening the rest of them. It was amazing how just one person could bring about such a change.

'Well, a good day to you all,' the woman trilled with a final nod and Jaheira's eyes followed her back to the kitchens as she left the table a lot more cheerful than when she'd arrived.

xxx

Breakfast had warmed Fritha with its homeliness, and even the crowded streets did not seem as unsettling as the group made their way through the city to eventually split up; the two Rashemi going to visit an old friend of their clan, the girls tagging along with Khalid and Jaheira as they went to meet one of their Harper contacts in a nearby square. A kind old man named Entillis Fulsom; he made a grandfatherly fuss of her and Imoen that reminded Fritha of Tethtoril, and spoke to Jaheira as a daughter, telling her he was glad to see the years had been kind to her and softened her manner.

Something it had taken Imoen a _lot _not to comment on.

Entillis seemed to know nothing more than they though, bar telling them that Scar of the Flaming Fist could be trusted, but he invited the two Harpers couple to visit him later at the local hold. The three moved off slightly to discuss a time and place before they rejoined them and it was as they were returning to the Elfsong for lunch that Imoen grabbed her arm to halt her, leaning in to hiss at her ear.

'See that man over there?'

Fritha glanced warily to the Harpers as they continued along the street, worried of losing them when she wasn't sure of the way back, before she followed Imoen's gaze to a dark-haired youth, casually leaning against a lamppost with an easy grace, his eyes trained on the people milling about the square before him.

'What, him?'

Imoen nodded, her eyes never leaving him.

'See the way he's watching those noblemen? He's a thief,' she announced with a pride that made Fritha smile.

'Come on, Imoen, we'll lose-'

But at that moment, he looked up, his eyes seeming to snap straight to them and he was moving through the crowds towards them before she could blink. Fritha went cold, her hand moving instinctively to her sword, as the all too familiar scenario played out before her.

'Imoen, fall back and nock an arrow.'

'There you are!' snapped a sudden voice behind them and Fritha whirled, never happier to hear the druid's reprimands than at that moment. 'By Silvanus, you two haven't the sense you were born with! Wandering-'

The druid stopped, finally noticing their stances and the approach of the youth, her anger redirecting as she stepped up to meet him, her husband at her side.

'_Yes?_'

The young man seemed slightly taken aback by this and faltered a moment before bowing politely.

'Good morning, m'lady. May we speak? I've a word or two you and your group need to hear.'

Jaheira raised an eyebrow imperiously, nodding once and he continued quickly, clearly wishing to deliver his message and get himself out from under the druid's steely glare.

'The word on the street has you placed as a fine group of mercenaries and I've a master who'd like to speak with you, if you can spare the time.'

Jaheira glanced to her husband, an unseen agreement passing between them and she turned back to him with an answer.

'Lead on.'

They followed the youth along their planned route, back into the east of the city and past the Elfsong to a group of dilapidated buildings that huddled in the shadow of the city's old inner wall. He led them up nearest set of steps and through the door, pausing to have a brief word with the man inside before opening another door and showing them into a large room, tables and low sofas scattered about it. He led them on though; to the room opposite which turned out to be an office of sorts, a lean wiry man of dark complexion rising to greet them as they entered.

'Greetings, I am glad you saw fit to meet with me. I am guild master Alatos, head of the thieves of Baldur's Gate. Thank you, Niklos.'

The youth nodded, turning to leave without a word and, strangely, Imoen followed him to stand in the adjacent room, chatting genially. And Fritha only kept half an eye on the guild master as he explained to the Harpers how he had suddenly found himself low on hands and asked to hire them for a few jobs about the city, her true attention caught up watching Imoen giggle and play with her hair.

Her focus was hardly needed anyway. Jaheira refused the guildmaster before he'd even explained the task and with an abruptness that meant their departure was likely to be immediate. Sure enough, Alatos nodded stiffly and called for someone to escort them out, Fritha shouting after her friend as they passed.

'Imoen!'

The girl glanced to her, turning back to say a quick farewell to the youth before jogging over and following her out the door.

Outside, the brightness seemed to have them all blinking after the gloom of the guild and they lingered a moment at the foot of the steps until Jaheira struck out southward, heading for the inn, and the rest of them trailed after her. Fritha fell into step with Imoen, the clear blue arc of midday sky above filling her with a sudden joy as she glanced to her friend, who was staring into the distance, a slight smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

'What's his name then?'

'What?' the girl questioned, turning to her, the confused tone belied by her guilty smile. Fritha smiled too, rolling her eyes at her friend's pathetic attempt to play the innocent with her.

'Imoen, you had the exact same look on your face when I walked in on you and Piato kissing in the Peers' Library.'

Imoen laughed delightedly and continued, her voice dropped low and earnest, clearly just bursting to share her secret.

'He's Niklos. He joined the guild about a year ago. And he's _wonderful_.'

'Such a description! I feel I know him already,' Fritha commented mildly and was rewarded with a laugh, her friend shoving her playfully.

'Don't tease me; you always tease me.'

Fritha smiled and promised she would behave, spending the next few moments patiently listening as Imoen told her of her new acquaintance in every giddy giggling detail.

They were back in their room by now, Imoen lying on her bed, quiet except for the occasional sigh, green eyes staring off at something only she could see and a smile still playing at her mouth.

'Are you coming down to lunch, then?' asked Fritha, sure that any mention of food would likely bring her round, but the girl seemed to barely hear her.

'What? Oh, no, I'm not really hungry.'

'Not hungry?' Fritha exclaimed, no less surprised by this than if the girl had just told her she was running off to become a novice of Helm, 'by Sune, he really got to you, didn't he?'

'Oh Fritha,' she cried, rolling on to her side to gaze up at her with a dreamy smile, 'I can't tell you. It was just so sudden. One moment I was just chatting with him and then…'

'And then?'

Imoen ignored her prompt though, lying back down with a sigh. 'I can't wait to see him again, when are we going back to the guild?'

Fritha winced.

'Imoen… we're not. Jaheira refused to work for them.'

'We're not?' she repeated, sitting bolt upright, her face falling.

Fritha bit her lower lip. There was a way around this though, something she had been considering since Niklos first approached them, but she felt strangely ill at ease with the idea now her friend's infatuation had come to light.

'Fritha?'

Fritha glanced up, their eyes meeting and she felt her heart sink at the sudden hope she saw there.

'Give me a moment.'

Imoen was knelt on the bed staring after her as Fritha left their room, slowly walking the few paces along the hall to halt outside the last door. With a lot more trepidation that she thought she should feel, she drew a deep breath, closed her eyes and knocked, taking a step back to wait for the inevitable.

'Fritha?' came a voice and she opened them to see the druid stood before her, hazel eyes wide in a look of mild surprised.

'Jaheira…'

'Yes?' she prompted, concern creeping into her features.

'I think Imoen and I should join the thieves' guild.'

The druid raised an eyebrow, considering her sternly. 'You _do_, do you?'

'Yes, you and Khalid have your contacts, as do Dynaheir and Minsc,' Fritha continued, trying to keep from rushing her words under the woman's austere gaze, 'it would be wise if we joined the guild, worked for them and kept our ears open for anything the Iron Throne may be involved in. If they are having any illicit dealings within the city, then the guild will know about it.'

A long pause.

'All right,' the druid said finally, except it was not terse or grudging, but an agreement openly given, and Fritha felt a sense of pride well within her as the druid nodded.

'It is agreed. I do not want the two of you wandering about alone though, so stay together. You can go back later tonight with Imoen under the pretence that you are there without our knowledge,' Jaheira continued, turning back into her room and Fritha was sure she could hear the hint of a smile in her voice as she added dryly, 'I cannot see him having a problem believing _that_.'

xxx

Jaheira was correct in her assumption and Alatos hardly raised an eyebrow when they turned up later that night, all giggles and nerves as only young girls who think they're being _terribly_ _rebellious_ can be. To be fair, there was hardly much acting involved on their part. Fritha had had all afternoon and the evening to worry about her plan and Imoen was a touch restless too, though, Fritha suspected, for a completely different reason.  
But the guild master accepted their explanation readily, complementing them on their business sense before dismissing them to his second, Narlen Darkwalk. A gruff man of middle years, he managed to insult them both from the outset by checking they were literate, before telling them of their first assignment: keeping a surveillance record on the Seven Suns trading coster in the west of the city.

'What do you think, then?' asked Fritha, as they wandered back into the common room, glad to be out from under the old thief's scrutiny. 'Do you suppose our Narlen became a thief and earned his name sneaking about the dark streets of the Gate? Or was it always his name and he just decided to cut his losses and become a thief, because no one would believe he wasn't at least a little shady with a name like that.'

'Fritha,' laughed Imoen, stopping suddenly to grab her arm, her eyes fixed on something over her shoulder and Fritha turned to see the tall lean frame of Niklos appear in the opposite doorway. He seemed to scan the room a moment before his eyes found her friend and with a surprised smile he nodded his greeting, making for them with easy strides. Fritha could certainly see why she liked him; tall with handsome features, his dark brown hair worn was mid-long and curling about his face, the day or so's worth of stubble on his chin giving him a roguish air.

'Fritha…' Imoen breathed, the grip on her arm tightening.

'Gods, you really are nervous.'

'Maybe,' she smiled, glancing to her, 'but it's a good nervous, like, I don't know, thousands of butterflies are inside me- don't look at me like that!' she added with a snap as Fritha cast her a sidelong glance as began laughing behind her hand.

'What's so funny?' came a smooth voice above them, and she stopped laughing to glance up into a pair of pale blue eyes.

'Oh, nothing,' Imoen replied brightly, giving her arm a meaningful squeeze before finally releasing her, 'Niklos, this is my friend I was telling you about, Fritha this is Niklos.'

Fritha nodded politely. 'Nice to meet you.'

'Likewise, I'm sure,' he returned with a slight smile, his eyes travelling carefully over the pair. 'You know, the way your other friends marched you out of here before, I didn't expect to see you again.'

Imoen snorted. 'Yeah, well, what they don't know, won't hurt them.'

All three laughed at that, before it slowly ebbed off to an awkward silence. Fritha sighed gently; they really hadn't time for this.

'Well, we shouldn't keep-'

'Imoen, can you come with me?' cut in Niklos with an abruptness that made Fritha frown, 'There are some people I think you should meet.'

Her friend started, looking momentarily surprised, before beaming.

'Yeah, okay. You coming, Fritha?'

'No, I think I'll stay here,' she answered, smiling as confidently as she was able as she gestured to the room, 'introduce myself to some of the locals. See you back here in an hour?'

'Sure.'

And Fritha watched them go, disappearing through one of the northern doors before she turned to scan the room, her stomach beginning to churn. Well, investigations had to start sometime.

xxx

It was not as bad as Fritha had thought it would be, and after that first evening, the next few days seemed to blend into one, every day spent watching the trading coster just as surely as every night was spent wandering about the thieves' guild. People only returned to the guild to begin or report on their various assignments, the former usually only staying long enough to gain an audience with Alatos or Narlen. So the majority of those she found scattered about the building of an evening were those who had completed their tasks and had usually just been paid too, making them amiable enough, and she had soon developed her own little script to bring the natural course of even the most bland of conversations on to city politics and the Iron Throne. She'd even had a few offers of drinks from the nicer ones, which she'd refused though. They had a job to do; something her friend seemed all too willing to forget.

Imoen was fine usually, the girls helping to keep each other's spirits up through the long days of surveillance, before coming with her to the guild to question and converse with the other thieves. But then Niklos would arrive and the last few days had found her friend spending more and more time with him and increasingly less time with anyone else, including herself. Just like that evening, Fritha considered with a disgruntled sign as she watched Imoen sat on one of the many sofas, her new friend at her side.

They had arrived at the guild together, both still giggling about today's watch or, more accurately, some woman in a nearby house leaning out her window to accuse Fritha of being a peeping tom, something Fritha had found a whole lot less amusing at the time. But, nevertheless, that evening had found them in good cheer and they had slowly worked through the common room of the guild getting into conversations, checking what people were doing and finding out what they knew. Finally, Niklos appeared and Imoen went to greet him, something Fritha certainly didn't begrudge her. But after a while, the girl was returning to talk to him more often, and for longer and longer, her work filtering off until she seemed to give up completely and had sat where she was now, the man at her side.

Fritha had mentioned it to her a couple of times now, about how it made more work for her and time was running out, things Imoen always agreed with. But it was as though as soon as Niklos arrived the girl couldn't help herself. Fritha shook her head; she felt like such an old shrew, constantly having to remind her of their duties, and it was with a heavy heart she finally saw her chance and quickly crossed the room to Imoen, yet again to play nursemaid.

'Come on,' Fritha hissed, Imoen at last alone while Niklos was called in to speak with the guild master, 'there are _other _people here to talk to, you know.'

'Fritha, in a minute,' Imoen whined, clearly wanting her to leave her be, 'He says some of his friends are arriving soon, I can talk to them.'

Fritha's look though was obviously not one of ready acceptance, as the girl frowned and continued with a terse sigh, 'You just don't understand, Fritha.'

Fritha scowled slightly as she slunk off again. Imoen was right; she _didn't _understand. Her friend had had attachments of this sort in the past, but it had never put such a wall between them before. It had just been like a game, one of many they would play together, and though Imoen's meetings with them would always be alone, she would come back full of talk and laughter to share. But, now as soon as Niklos turned up it was as though Fritha didn't exist.

The girl fought down a surge of jealousy as she watched her friend, held rapt by his every gesture. What was so special about him anyway? He wasn't _that_ handsome. Certainly not as amazing as _he_ seemed to think he was and she trusted him about as far as she could throw Minsc. Fritha had tried sitting with them, watching the man hold court among his friends, but, to be quite frank, she found it dull.

Still…

Imoen clearly didn't, and these friends of his may hold some clue about the Iron Throne. Fritha sighed gently and sank onto a nearby sofa, resigned to the fact they would probably be there another hour at least and unable to help but feel a little warmed as her friend caught her eye, beaming at her stupidly before her attention was drawn back to the man at her side.

Ah, love's young dream…

xxx

Fritha sighed, angrily pulling on a fresh tunic before hurling the damp one across the room in her frustration. She and Imoen had been sat out on the docks when the shower caught them, unable to find proper cover where they could still see their current mark and the girls had been soaked to the skin and half dried again by the time their replacements arrived that evening. It was a day only made worse by Imoen's inability to enter into any conversation without it eventually being brought around to her favourite subject. _Niklos._ In fact, so prevailing was this tendency that Fritha wondered whether Imoen hadn't been working on a little script of her own: one to naturally bring the course of every conversation on to Sune's gift to larceny.

'Fri-tha' whined the girl in question from the hall, clearly anxious to get to the guild.

Fritha sent a scowl in her direction, absently hoping they had the ability to travel through walls before moving with a deliberate lack of haste to the dresser and shaking out her damp hair, a mass of curls where it had been rained on and then allowed to dry. She frowned at her reflection, debating on whether to bother trying to brush it, or just wait until later when she could give it a wash.

'Fritha, will you come _on_!'

'Imoen, it's not as though you're eager to get back to _work_!' she snapped, her friend's impatience making the decision for her as she threw the brush after her tunic in temper, 'I'll be there when I'm good and ready!'

Just a moment to gather her hair back up and pin it in place, and she was out in the hallway to join her, much to the girl's relief.

'Finally! Now can we-?'

'Well, there are two faces I have not seen in a while,' a voice behind them interrupted genially and they turned to see Jaheira stood at her door, 'Just getting in?'

Imoen sighed and sullenly rolled her eyes. 'I'll wait for you downstairs.'

Jaheira watched the girl slope off down the narrow staircase before turning back to her and Fritha offered her a wan smile.

'Just going out.'

The druid frowned slightly. 'Is there a problem?'

For a second Fritha wrestled with herself, wanting to confide in the older woman, tell her of her worries, of Imoen and Niklos and everything, but…

'No, no,' she dismissed with a shake of her head, 'how are things?'

'We may have a couple of promising leads, and yourselves?'

'Nothing as yet. We'll keep at it.'

The woman nodded, smiling slightly and Fritha felt warmed by the faith she obviously had in them, the desire to see it was _not_ misplaced rising fierce within her.

'So, what do they have you doing over there?'

Fritha shrugged indifferently.

'Mostly surveillance, the Seven Suns, certain ships. From what I can tell, Alatos's best people are off working on some important mission the guild's accepted, so everyone's moved up a rank and Imoen and I are taking up the slack right at the bottom.'

Jaheira's eyes narrowed slightly, and Fritha anticipated her next question, though she let her ask it anyway.

'This mission, could it be for the Iron Throne?'

'No, I don't think so. I've seen a Halruraan mage hanging around the guild a couple of times and there's talk of the plans for one of their airships being batted about. I'm pretty sure it's something to do with that.'

Jaheira nodded again and they bade each other farewell, the woman turning back into her room as Fritha clattered down the stairs to meet Imoen in the bar and together they left for the guild.

Outside, the night air was cool and still, the streets still quite busy even at that hour. There was always a constant stream of movement in and out the gates, however late, though the streets further into the city would most likely be quieter by now. To be honest, the numbers of people didn't really bother Fritha anymore. Though it had been unnerving at first, she found she quite liked the bustle after a day or so. There was an anonymity to being among that many people, and the crowds provided her with a sense of isolation she had not felt since the mists of Peldsvale. In Nashkel, any stranger in such a small place was a point of interest; in Baldur's Gate, she was just another face in the crowd. And so used, as she was, to spending at least a few hours each day on her own, the last month or so of being in constant company was starting to smother her and Fritha savoured the feeling as she followed their various marks about the city, the chaos of people providing better cover than any forest ever could.

She did not get long to enjoy such feelings that night though, the guild was barely a street from the Elfsong and before she knew it, she was trudging up the steps, Imoen at her side. The first thing that hit her was a wall of noise as she pushed open the door to the common room, the area packed with people stood and sat, the sound of their talk and laughter a low rumble in the warm air.

Niklos was stood as part of a large group in the corner across from them and he called to Imoen as soon as they entered, the girl rushing over to be welcomed into their circle. Fritha watched with a tired resignation as her friend was swallowed in the throng before turning her attentions to her work, not taking long to find out what the impromptu celebration was in aid of. The guild's mission for the Halruraans had been completed to their satisfaction and the entire guild had been given a bonus, with Alatos declaring that all drinks were on the house until the kegs ran dry.

Fritha got herself a cup of wine, playing the part of the merry carouser as she worked the room, chatting blithely with the regulars and gaining introductions to those unfamiliar to her, her subtle questions hidden behind a veil of tipsy flirtation and guileless chatter: the weapons of the ingénue. Every now and then, she would catch a glimpse of Imoen through the crowds, laughing with Niklos and his friends, clearly doing nothing but enjoying the party, all warm eyes and wide smile. She glanced to her now, the girl's arm resting lightly on Niklos' sleeve as a companion refilled her cup, Fritha turning back to her own group just in time to join their laughter, the gesture feeling unpleasantly false when she was filled with such resentment.

Fritha sighed tersely to herself, a reasonable mind trying to prevail over her green heart. She should know by now Imoen was going to be like this and if it bothered her… well, she should just say something.

'_Again,_' a nagging voice reminded bitterly and she fought down another surge of bile, pulling her face into smile as one of her own group offered round more wine. Fritha shook her head, excusing herself from their company to lurk outside Niklos' circle, waiting for a moment to catch Imoen's attention and beckon her across.

'Hey Fritha, having fun?' she greeted cheerfully, her smile fading in the face of her frown.

'Imoen, what is going on?'

'What do you mean?'

'I _mean_,' Fritha continued, Imoen's apparent obliviousness only serving to rile her further, 'why aren't you doing any work? Look, I really went out on a limb convincing Jaheira to let us join the guild. We need to show her we can be relied upon, she trusts us-'

'Oh, is that what's got you all worried,' Imoen smiled, clearly relieved to have worked out what was upsetting her, 'was she hassling you before?'

'No!' Fritha cried, stung on the woman's behalf, 'she was just asking how we were doing, which, if we're honest, is quite badly. We know nothing more about the Iron Throne and we never will at this rate. Here we are, at a gathering with practically the entire guild present and you're just lounging about with the same few idiots you see every day!'

'Fritha, it's a party,' Imoen sighed, looking as though she was restraining an eyeroll with difficulty, 'no one is going to want to talk about city politics and anyone who does is going to stick out a mile off.'

'Well, that just goes to show the amount of effort you put in, if you can't manage to disguise your inquires from these drunken louts!' Fritha snapped in reply, the rationality of Imoen's excuse making her even crosser.

'Oh, there's something wrong with the way I work, is there? Well-'

'What? You won't help anymore?' Fritha cut in scornfully, 'well, _there's_ a threat!'

'Look,' Imoen continued, squaring up to her indignantly, 'I've done my work, just because _I'm_ not obsessed with the Iron Throne.'

'So I'm obsessed, am I? And I _wonder_ why that is.'

Imoen stood mouthing slightly, the unexpectedness of her attack leaving her friend at a slight disadvantage. Fritha shrugged, nothing more to say either, all her anger burnt out as she turned to disappear into the crowds

'Just do what you like, Imoen, you always do.'

xxx

Another day sat bored to tears listening to just _how_ amazing Niklos was, had finally led them here, back to the place Fritha liked even less, and to such a degree she spent a good few hours considering whether the whole building wasn't actually some small demi-plane of Hell, its denizens all created for her own subtle torture. Had it really only been a tenday since they'd first stepped into the perpetual gloom of that gods-forsaken guild?

Fritha sighed to herself as she wandered the familiar path about the common room. It wasn't that bad really, she was just bored and tired and her mind was over-exaggerating in an effort to entertain itself. She'd given up on trying to get Imoen to help since the last argument. All the nagging and squabbling was turning Fritha into someone she hated and after the uncomfortable apologies had been exchanged, work was never discussed between them again. Imoen still chatted to people now and then, but most of her time was spent with Niklos, and Fritha found she was, although not happy with the situation, too tired to make further attempts to change it.

She ended her circuit where she'd begun, at the sofa Imoen and Niklos usually shared, the girl in question sat upon it and thankfully alone that evening. In fact, the whole guild seemed rather quiet. Something must be going on; she would have to remember to make enquiries into what the following night. As for tonight; well if no one else was there, Fritha couldn't see any reason they should be and she hadn't seen her bed the right side of midnight in a few days at least.

'Come on, Imoen. I've looked about, it's just the usual lot. Let's get back to the inn.'

'But…'

She glanced to her and there was suddenly no need for any explanation… _Niklos_.

'By Shar,' Fritha sighed, scrubbing a hand across her face in frustration, unwilling to start another argument, 'Imoen, we're here _every_ night. I'm practically nocturnal as it is!'

'Oh, come on, Fritha, please, just until midnight, I just know he'll be here.'

'All this for some boy,' she sighed, but sat down heavily next to her all the same and Imoen beamed.

'Oh, Fritha, you just can't understand. When I'm with him, it's like there's no one else in the world.'

Fritha smiled tiredly and remained silent; it seemed a little sour to say it certainly _felt_ that way.

xxx

It was past one when Imoen finally gave up her wait and sullenly followed her back to the Elfsong. The bar was all but empty by this time and Fritha was happy to head straight up stairs to her bed when a voice hissed audible behind her.

'Hello?'

She turned with Imoen to see a gnome sat in the gloom of the corner table, beckoning to them in a way that was clearly meant to be covert and was failing miserable. Fritha glanced in query to Imoen who shrugged and together they made their way over.

'Shh… I, ah, hello,' he greeted, his whisper louder than most would talk, 'I am Silus. Might I have a moment of your time, dear ladies? Ah, oh, how do I approach this? You are for hire?'

The girls shared a silent look, Fritha turning back to him with an eyebrow raised over a steely glare in Jaheira's signature move.

'Oh, n-nothing like that,' he corrected hastily, his moustache seeming to bristle at the very thought. 'I-I mean… ah I need a… job done. Get my intent? Strictly hush-hush.'

He winked theatrically and beside her, she heard Imoen stifle a snort as they each drew out a chair either side of him and sat down.

'I should like to procure your talents for a… a unique… ah… illegal service.'

'How illegal?' asked Fritha and the gnome beamed.

'That's the spirit!' he enthused, rubbing his small hands together, 'a little larceny never hurt anyone! Well… it won't hurt me anyway, and to be fair I would ask that no one else be injured during this exploit. I mean, I want you to steal something, but I want it done in the nicest way possible. It's roguery on a par with Danilo Thann of Waterdeep, and, and I'll pay you well for it. Five hundred gold pieces for one night's work!'

Fritha waved this news away; she'd money enough in her purse and a desire for gold would not win her over on this.

'What is the actual job?' Imoen pressed, being stood up clearly doing nothing to improve her patience. Their new friend seemed not notice though, dark eyes gleaming as he leaned in.

'Oh, it's a marvellous trinket from distant Lantan. A telescope,' he breathed with reverent awe, nervously licking his lips, 'there's not another like it this side of the Trackless Sea! Such a thing is made to be used not worshipped!'

'Sounds like he'll be doing a bit of both,' muttered Imoen at her side and Fritha had just enough time to disguise her snort as a sneeze as Silus carried on regardless, his voice growing louder as his passions rose.

'It must be in the hands of someone who can truly appreciate it! Those Gondites just don't unders-'

'Gondites?' Imoen interrupted, and he started, momentarily surprised it seemed to find them there.

'Oh, wh-why yes,' he continued, recovering quickly, 'did I not mention that bit? The telescope is currently in possession of High House, the temple of Gond. It's on display in the Hall of Wonders.'

Imoen gasped, turning to her, a wild light gleaming in her eyes.

'Fritha,' she breathed with awe and doing a rather good impression of Silus, 'just imagine…'

And however many reservations she had about this, Fritha felt it too, the hungry call of the challenge. If they managed it, it would not bring them fame or even infamy. Only those who partook would know. But she would know and it would make her smile whenever she thought of it... Imoen was still staring at her, eyes hopeful, and Fritha grinned.

'We'll do it.'

Imoen's good humour was instantly restored and they concluded the deal quickly, arranging to deliver the telescope to Silus there within the tenday, before both parties retired to their rooms to dream of what the venture would bring them.  
Fritha smiled, folding her trousers neatly over the end of her bed as Imoen chatted and planned, describing times and ways they could gain entry to the temple and their mark. This was more like it: her and Imoen, together again, just like they had always been. But as though these thoughts had somehow tempted a malevolent fate…

'Hey, maybe we could invite Niklos along too?'

Fritha closed her eyes, her look of disappointment hidden as she crouched over her bag to retrieve her shift.

'Imoen we can't,' she sighed, proud to have kept her voice even as she straightened. 'We're part of the guild now, they can't know we're taking jobs on the side, it would be a breach of the rules.'

'Oh come on, haven't you listened to half his stories? Everyone does it!'

'So he says,' Fritha muttered, pulling her shift over her head and wishing she was asleep already.

'And what's that supposed to mean?' Imoen snapped, instantly bristling.

Fritha sighed, straitening the skirt and slumping tiredly onto her bed. 'Imoen… I'm not sure about him. When he smiles he leaves his eyes behind…'

'Fritha…' Imoen began, shaking her head, 'Niklos is right, all these bounty hunters _are_ making you paranoid.'

'You told him about the bounty?' she exclaimed, eyes flying unconsciously to the window, as though she would suddenly see assassins gathering in the street below.

'No, of course not!' the girl answered, clearly stung.

'Then how did he know?'

'He probably just read a notice like anyone else,' she said matter-of-factly, crossing to the dresser to comb her hair.

Fritha felt a cold dread creep across navel. Yes, he could have just read one of the bounty notices. But only official bounties approved by the state could be displayed within the city walls, over at the Flaming Fist garrison. A sudden unnamed panic seemed to seize her.

'Imoen, have you spoken to him about the Iron Throne yet?

'Well…'

'Have you?' she pressed, fear making her temper flaring.

'No!' Imoen finally snapped, slamming her comb onto the dresser, the bottles atop it chiming, 'Okay? No, I haven't. By Mask, it's like your turning into Jaheira.'

Fritha sighed, leaning back against the cold wall, a giddy relief quivering through her. But the girl obviously took her silence for hurt feelings for Imoen moved to sit at her feet, patting her legs affectionately.

'I'm sorry I said that. It isn't true; I'm just still upset about him not showing up, I suppose. I'll ask him tomorrow, I promise… I know you don't like him so much, but if you just got to know him like I do, you'd understand… Are we okay? Imoen asked, eyes gently searching her face and Fritha nodded, feeling more tired than she ever had in her life.

'No, don't mention it to him… and please Imoen, promise me you'll be careful?'

But Imoen merely laughed, leaning in to kiss her cheek before climbing into her own bed, putting out the candle to leave Fritha sat in the half-light, just staring at her hands. 


	11. It Takes a Thief

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**It Takes a** **Thief…**

They had been over a tenday in the city when it was decided another meeting should be held. The last few days had found the group split, rarely managing more than a glimpse of each other as the adults travelled the city, meeting with contacts and following leads, Imoen and Fritha spending every moment spare back at the guild, all in an effort to discover more on the Iron Throne and their plans. And so, that summer evening found them gathered again about a table in the Elfsong, their exchange going unnoticed by the other patrons as they enjoyed their drinks and the cool evening air.

'We've nothing, have we?' began Fritha dispiritedly with a glance to her friend, starting her from whatever dream of larceny and love was currently occupying her.

'Hmm? Yeah, nothing.'

Fritha allowed herself the slightest sigh, turning back to the table as she continued.

'We investigated as far as we could without drawing attention to ourselves and, apart from all the usual talk about how the Iron Throne have _heroically_ stepped up the fill the breach in the Gate's iron supply, after the _nefariou_s actions of Amnian agents, we've heard nothing.'

'We are the same,' admitted Jaheira, 'the Harpers know nothing more than we of their activities. And barring the letters we've found, there is no real proof for any of it.'

'So, h-has anyone any news?'

Across the table, Dynaheir shook her head. 'I feel as though I have conversed with every mage, sorcerer and witch in this entire city. If the Iron Throne have any magical ties, they are not here.'

Everyone knew where this situation left them, but none seemed willing to be the one to voice it, and a silence hung over the table until Jaheira squared her shoulders and finally spoke up.

'Well, that decides it then, our investigations must be carried to the source. Tomorrow we visit the Iron Throne.'

Supper was not really the same after the decision was made and the group quickly disbanded once the meal was done, retiring to their rooms much earlier than usual, quiet and withdrawn. Fritha sank onto her bed with a sigh; the gesture feeling alien when compared with the tension that seemed to grip her. But for once, it was not thoughts of the Iron Throne that had her on a blade's edge. If they were to move on their headquarters tomorrow then there may not be time afterwards…

She glanced up as Imoen entered, closing the door behind her, her movements betraying a tension that matched her own and Fritha smiled slightly in greeting.

They had been getting on better of late, something Fritha was only too glad of. It had turned out the night they met Silus was not the only night Imoen was to be stood up by Niklos, though she had been very stubborn about asking his friends where he was, claiming haughtily that if he didn't care to tell her, she didn't care to know. But after the third evening of being sat in the guild with Imoen, the girl's mood constantly hovering between anger and dejection, Fritha had made subtle inquires into the man's absence, finding that he'd been sent on an urgent errand for Alatos, and so suddenly that even some of his closest friends had not known at first. It had been information that had put Imoen in a significantly better mood and had begun the mending of a friendship that had been strained ever since they'd entered the Gate.

Imoen smiled in reply, glancing to the half open window and Fritha followed her eye, staring out across the rooftops of the darkening city, the whole world dressed in a blue-grey hue.

'The wind's coming in off the sea; it will be cloudy tonight.'

Imoen started at the sound of her voice, turning to her and Fritha saw the same quivering anticipation mirrored in her eyes.

'Tonight?'

Fritha nodded once. 'Tonight.'

Half and hour later, they had passed through the arch of the old inner wall and were walking through the darkening streets, heading for the north west of the city. Fritha had insisted they bring only the essentials, even leaving behind their weapons, knowing their absence would put things in a lot better light, should they be caught. The end of the street was coming up and she rounded the corner to stop, staring across the square to where the tall slender columns of the High House were rising up from the green of the surrounding lawns. She glanced to her friend, silent all this while and on her cue they flitted across the open square to crouch on the edge of the gardens behind the nearest hedge.

They were closer now, and Fritha could see the light from the guards' lanterns blinking as they paced under the columns. They sat there, watching them for nearly an hour, Imoen telling her everything she could remember from her tour the other day, while they slowly came to recognise the different heights and gaits of the guards until it became clear what they were up against.

'There's four,' whispered Imoen, half-statement, half-question and Fritha nodded her agreement as the girl continued.

'There is always one walking along this side, and I'll bet you anything there's one on the other too. They work in pairs, each following a path along one side of the temple, then in through the western doors to patrol the inside, leaving through the eastern set to begin again.' They shared a nod and Imoen carried on. 'Now the whole route takes about seventeen minutes so each guard spends just under five in each of the rooms and double that to patrol the perimeter. So, since every guard is spaced out by about five minutes, take one guard out and I've got a five minute window to get in and out.'

Fritha frowned; that wasn't much time to get inside, get the telescope and escape undetected.

'Are you sure that'll be long enough?'

'Are you joking?' Imoen grinned, confidence lighting her face, 'I could do it in three! You should see the case they have it in, even _you_ could pick the lock given enough time.'

'Thanks. So, any ideas on how to get rid of one of the guards?'

Imoen's grin broadened and Fritha felt her stomach drop.

'Oh, yes, and the guard in question too.'

Fritha followed her as she rose, keeping low as they ran across the lawns from shadow to shadow, finally ending up behind the fountain just south of the western doors. The gentle roar of the water made for a good cover and Imoen grinned as she leant over the white marble rim to check for the sentries.

'I don't know why they don't just lock the whole place up at night. It would save themselves a lot of bother.'

Fritha shrugged. 'It's a temple of Gond; they can't restrict the access of knowledge, it's against their tenets. Besides, who'd steal anything from the temple? Most of the inventions in there are too large to move alone.'

'_Most_,' repeated Imoen with another smile and Fritha shook her head as the girl finally turned back to her, 'Right, that's him there.'

Imoen ushered her forward and they swapped places, Fritha peering up through the water's spray to see a long-faced youth wandering along the covered walkway, mousy hair curling about the collar of his tunic and looking almost blond where the lamplight caught it.

'I saw him when I was here last time,' whispered Imoen as she turned back to her, 'quite young and he was complaining about guard duty being dull. Think you can liven up his evening?'

Imoen grinned as Fritha rolled her eyes, handing the girl her bag and scooping some earth into her hands to put a couple of dark smudges over one cheekbone before taking out one of her hairpins, a mass of curls falling over one shoulder to give her hair an untidy lopsided appearance.

'I'll see what I can do.'

Fritha licked her lips nervously as she moved around the to steps of the temple, waiting until the youth's back was to her before racing up them to grab his sleeve.

'Please,' she gasped, affecting a slight stumble as she leant forward, 'please you have to help me, I've just be attacked!'

He turned and she felt a sudden stab of guilt at the alarm she saw there; the boy was barely older than she was and clearly unprepared for her wild appearance.

'Calm down, miss, please,' he soothed, setting down his lantern to free his hands, 'please, just tell me what happened.'

'You don't understand!' she wailed, throwing her head into her hands with such force she was in danger of loosing the other hairpin, 'They've taken it, they taken my bag. Months of work gone!'

'Hush, please,' he continued, a subtle edge of panic creeping into his voice, 'you're safe enough now. Y-You see I am just lay brother here at the temple. If you go and report it to the garrison in the west of the city, I'm sure they will be able to find it for you.'

Fritha glanced up, catching a glimpse of Imoen sneaking along the wall behind them, heading for the doors.

'You believe so?' she smiled, blinking the tears from her eyes, 'That would be wonderful!'

He nodded, smiling too and, to her horror, began to return to his patrol, turning to enter the temple.

'Please! Don't leave me alone!' she shrieked, grabbing his arm to halt him, knees going weak with relief as Imoen finally slipped through the doors. The youth noticed her stumble, sweeping an arm out to catch her and she chose her moment, slowly looking up to fix him with wide and fearful eyes.

'Will you come with me?'

He frowned slightly and she fully expected him to say no, to set her on her feet and send her on her way. But suddenly, something in his expression softened and he turned silently back to the doors, withdrew a large key and locked them before turning to her and offering her an arm.

'Come, I shall escort you now.'

xxx

Imoen giggled softly to herself as she flew lightly down the steps, her eyes trained on the far corner and her prize. No longer than a scroll case, the tiered brass cylinder gleamed seductively in the lamplight as she approached, walking round the glass case to find the lock set in its wooden frame. She smiled, taking a pouch from her belt to draw out a long silver pick and with slow precise movements began to work the lock. At last, a satisfying click and she withdrew it, sliding the tool quickly back in the pouch and easing the cabinet open. The telescope felt cold to the touch and she could not resist a few moments examining it from every angle, just suppressing a cry when she turned it on its end and the tiers all shifted out to almost double its length. Smiling again, she closed the cabinet and made for the door; she couldn't wait to show Fritha this.

xxx

Fritha looked up to the man at her side, or Helith, as she now knew him, and smiled, guilt squirming in her stomach as they chatted genially about the research she'd been doing into the old mage school, Ulcaster. As awful as it felt to trick him, Fritha found herself quite getting into the role; lamenting how she'd been on her way to meet a patron of the temple of Oghma that very night, in hopes he would fund an expedition to the ruins, when she'd been robbed of her research.  
However, as entertaining as it was, it had been at least two minutes since they'd left and if she didn't lose him soon, Imoen would have to go back to the inn alone; something she did not want.

But as they turned into the next street her heart leapt at the sight of two familiar red and black helms and she ran forward to meet the Flaming Fist patrol, but not before a promise to meet her would-be protector on the morrow had been extracted.

'Excuse me?' she called out, causing the mercenaries to turn, dropping her voice as she drew closer, so the Gondite behind could not hear her. 'Might I ask a favour of you?'

'No harm in asking, girl,' smiled the elder soldier kindly while the other rolled his eyes, and Fritha took the moment to glance behind her to see Helith's retreating back, obviously happy to have left her in safe hands.

'Could you get a message to Commander Scar for me?'

'And what's wrong with _your_ legs?' snapped the younger, pushing his face closer to hers in a way that made her want to slap it. 'We're not your bloody errand boys.'

'For Tyr's sake, Jek,' the elder sighed, throwing him a frown, 'Where's the harm? Aye, girl, what's your message?'

'Could you tell him the girl from Candlekeep will visit him tomorrow.'

'And he'll understand that, will he?'

She nodded and he smiled wryly.

'Fair enough, girl.'

She smiled and thanked him, her plan falling together flawlessly. Now all she had to do was get back to the temple before poor Helith did.

xxx

Imoen smiled, tripping lightly up the steps and shoving the telescope under one arm, as the other reached for the door handle. Nothing happened.

She twisted it again, and more forcefully this time, a sudden panic seizing her as her eyes flew to the lock beneath. It was a huge thing and, by the look of it, more complicated than anything she had managed before. The thief went straight for her pouch and removed the thickest pick she could find, nearly dropping the telescope in her haste to get it to the lock and angrily pushing the cold lump of metal inside her tunic, very aware of the seconds flying by. She twisted and pulled, the heavy iron mechanism refusing the budge, Imoen's fear of snapping her only means of escape keeping her movements measured in the face of her rising panic. And then she heard it; the clatter of metal on metal and it was all she could do to remove the pick before the turning lock crushed it, leaping back to flatten herself against the wall in the shadow of the ornate jamb.

The door swung open and a robed figure stepped in, scanning the room before him.

'Helith?'

He took another step forward and Imoen saw her chance, slipping through the doors behind him and hurtling along the walkway to throw herself headlong into the bushes, scrambling behind the fountain. Hands trembling, she withdrew the telescope, glancing over it for damage before her eyes flicked up at the sound of approaching feet and she saw Fritha tearing along the street as though Gond himself was after her. Imoen didn't wait for the girl to get any closer; Fritha was the fastest person she knew and, picking up her friend's bag, she too began to run, ducking low behind the hedges. Fritha caught her before they'd even passed through the gardens, pausing briefly to retrieve her bag and together they raced across the square, slipped into the nearest alley and were gone.

They ran breathless through the streets, flitting from shadow to shadow as Imoen hugged their prize to her chest, the girls throwing each other grins in silent camaraderie. Suddenly, the bells of the temple were rippling through the still night air and Fritha could not help but feel a wild surge of exhilaration as they doubled their pace, hurtling back into the lower city. Once under the old city walls, they slowed to a walk, not wanting to attract undue attention to themselves and chattering quietly as they went.

'You were brilliant, the way you slipped through that door without a sound! I was so sure we were caught.'

'Yeah, but it was you who stopped him turning round, and getting him to just wander off like that!'

'I never expected him to agree, I though you were mad sending me up there to talk to him!'

'Hah! You can charm the birds from the trees when you want to. By Mask, you sounded so desperate, _I_ was half-convinced to drop everything and come up there to help you! How on Toril did you get yourself so worked up?'

'I just imagined I had to write one of Jesseth's essays again; instantly distraught!'

And it was like that they made their way back to the inn, living every moment through again, describing the troubles they had faced while parted and the successes they had shared- and laughing as Fritha tried to return her hair to some semblance of order.

They had just rounded the curved wall of the magic shop and the warm welcoming lights of the Elfsong had swung into view, when a familiar voice hissed behind them and out of the shadows stepped Niklos. Imoen's face, already glowing with their triumph, suddenly shone with a whole new kind of light and Fritha felt her heart sink, taking the opportunity to pull the telescope from her unresisting hands.

'Niklos!'

'Imoen!' he laughed, pulling the girl into an embrace.

Fritha dropped her gaze, feeling slightly uncomfortable until she sensed them part and she glanced up in time for Imoen's inevitable question.

'Where've you been?'

'Had to leave the city for a while, Alatos had some business down in Beregost he needed sorting.' Niklos smiled down at them with his easy lopsided grin, his eyes watchful behind the gesture. 'What are you two doing out at this late hour?'

'We-'

'Were out walking,' Fritha interrupted with a glare that Imoen promptly ignored.

'Oh, Fritha,' the girl laughed, as though the world was a joke that only she didn't understand, 'we can tell Niklos. We were out doing a job.'

'Really?'

'Yes, a burglary, we-'

'Can't really say any more; client confidentiality, you understand,' Fritha cut in smoothly and Niklos nodded his acceptance, which fortunately ensured Imoen's.

'Well,' the youth continued with a grin, 'since you two have been so hard at work, and it's been a while since we talked, I think some recreation is in order. We're going to a gathering; it's usually just selected guild members only, but I'm sure you will be welcome.'

Niklos smiled and Fritha for the first time noticed the two youths stood in the shadows behind him; the taller, red-haired and freckly, his shorter friend almost albino in his pallor, white-blond hair worn long and tied back off his face.

'We'd love to, wouldn't we Fritha!' answered her friend eagerly. And without another glance to her, Imoen fell into step with Niklos, leaving her stood, an uncomfortable tightness in her stomach as the two men whispered fervently behind her and Fritha took the moment to push the telescope right to the bottom of her bag and buckle it up tight.

'So, Fritha, isn't it?' began the red-haired youth genially as they set off after the couple, the men flanking her like an honour guard. 'I'm Urtis and this is Tann.'

Fritha smiled weakly, nodding but finding no reply, the knot in her stomach tightening. She sensed them share a look above her and stared ahead, eyes boring into her friend's back, just willing her to turn round. But the closest Imoen got was to look up at Niklos, beaming, and Fritha gave up, resigning herself to what she could only assume was Sune's punishment for Helith.

They followed the pair along the dark streets, Urtis still trying to make crippling small talk, while the buildings around them became steadily more dilapidated as they moved further towards an old section of the docks, when, at last, Niklos led them round the back of a disused warehouse, descending some narrow steps to knock on the door at the bottom. Fritha edged forward to where Imoen was stood, looking down into the stairwell with her eyes trained on the man below them. Her face held the same look they had shared in those last few moments huddled behind the fountain before the temple and though she knew it would be pointless, Fritha felt duty-bound to dissuade her anyway.

'Imoen-'

But it was not just her voice that broke the silence and she glanced down to see Niklos staring up at them, beckoning them all to follow as the door opened, light flooding the stairwell. Imoen descended so fast her feet barely touched the steps and Fritha was swept after her as the two men at her back pressed forward.

The room she found herself in was small and low-ceilinged, doors leading off in all directions, the peeling walls painted a dark wine red. But there was little else she could observe before a cry of "Niklos" started her and Fritha whirled to have her vision suddenly obscured by an expanse of black lace that had swooped from one of the doorways to devour the thief in a ferocious embrace.

'Niklos, _darling_, where have you been hiding yourself?' The woman cooed, finally drawing back from him and Fritha found herself staring up at a tall woman of late middle-age, greying red hair coiled into a crown of tight curls, her face a mask of contrasts in chalk white skin and scarlet lips. Her black dress was narrow and fitted, making her seem even taller; a mass of layers, silks and velvets all trimmed with a fine web of lace.

'Ah, mostly where I shouldn't have been,' the thief answered with a grin and the woman laughed throatily, gracefully raising a hand to take a drag of a long slender pipe, her gaze finally drifting past him to where the rest of them crowded before the doorway. She nodded briefly to the men before her eyes came to rest on the two girls and she stared down at them with interest, her nostrils flaring slightly as she exhaled another lungful of smoke, putting Fritha in mind of some great powdered dragon.

'Oh, and what have you there, Niklos? Friends of yours?'

'This is Imoen,' he answered, ushering the girl closer with a sweep of his arm.

'And Fritha,' added Urtis, moving to do the same only to be made redundant when the girl in question stepped forward of her own accord, no intention of being shepherded by anyone.

'Indeed,' the woman considered slowly, casting a critical eye over the pair, 'are they not a little young to be guild members?'

'Young? We-!' Imoen repeated indignantly, ready with a tirade as Fritha cut her off.

'Indeed, madam, you are quite correct. In fact, it is _well_ past our bedtime, so if you will excuse us…'

She made to turn for the door, shooing her friend before her, but a handful of scarlet talons caught her shoulder, the woman's throaty laughter gurgling at her ear.

'Come now, dear, I meant no disrespect,' the woman laughed, beckoning her forward, 'Come in, come in, your wit has more than proved your worth.'

Fritha scowled; next time she'd just allow Imoen her rant and save herself some bother. But their host seemed not to notice, beaming down at them generously.

'Welcome, dears, welcome to Madam Rosalind's salon.'

The woman led them forward, off through one of the doorways and into another larger room; long, narrow and similarly decorated to the first in dark reds, while heavy curtains of crimson and blue were coiled about the peeling columns, reduced to a delicate filigree in patches where the moths had found them. Small tables and elegant sofas scattered the room, the rich dark woods scratched and dented, while at her feet, threadbare Calimshite rugs carpeted the floor. The whole place had an air of faded opulence, an ancient palace of some fallen empire. It mirrored its owner in that respect; more than likely quite fair in her day, the years had faded Rosalind, but beauty never truly dies, just changes, and even worn as they were, both furnishings and hostess still held a certain charm.

About them, peoples of every sort were sat around the tables drinking; thieves and rogues, sailors and bards and in one corner a group of young noblemen were seated, courtesans in dresses of every colour flitting from table to table like butterflies. But as enthralling as the scene before them was, it did little to ease the tension in her and in the cover of this sudden bustle Fritha finally caught up to her friend.

'Imoen,' she whispered, tugging urgently at the girl's sleeve, 'Imoen we shouldn't be here.'

'Oh, come on, Fritha,' she began and the girl was sure she caught the hint of an eye roll as Imoen turned to her, 'it's fine. And look around,' she continued slyly, making to glance about them, 'I haven't even _seen_ half of these people before, any one of them could have information on the Iron Throne-'

'Don't even try to pretend that's what all this is about!' Fritha hissed, temper finally snapping at this crude attempt to manipulate her. The girl did not argue though and hung her head, ashamed, and Fritha felt hope rise in her that perhaps Imoen would finally see reason.

They had reached an empty table by now and Niklos threw himself gracefully onto one of the faded sofas that surrounded it, a flutter of courtesans dejectedly redirecting their path as he looked up to her friend, patting the space next to him.

Imoen glanced to him, turning back to her with an earnest look.

'Please, Fritha,' she whispered fervently, 'just one hour, please…'

Fritha stared back at her, wrestling with herself. They had been getting on so well of late…  
And tonight, that old spark of friendship had been back and bright between them as they had robbed the temple. And now Niklos was back and it was just as it had been; the girl's only thoughts on the man, the rest of the world fading into the background. Even tonight, the eve of an undertaking that could well affect the entire Sword Coast, it seemed, was no exception.

And yet…

It was only just past midnight… would another hour really make much difference? Fritha glanced again to her friend's face, so alight with hope…

It would make a _lot_ of difference to someone.

She sighed, shaking her head defeatedly. 'All right, _one _hour.'

xxx

Fritha glanced down to the half cup of wine she was nursing, watching the red girl within stare blankly out at her. At first, she had tried, as Imoen suggested, to make enquires into the Iron Throne. Travelling the room, talking to the strange mix of people, the little script she used to bring the course of conversation naturally around to the Gate's latest _heroes_ tripping dully off her tongue with half a thought. But it seemed no one held any interest for the goings-on in the city above, or, at least, not when they were in the salon. And Fritha eventually grew tired of talking her way out of drunken flirtations and getting dark looks from the courtesans, who had little time for conversations with _her_, and even less patience for anything that got in the way of their work.

And so, after an hour she had given up, moving to sit alone on a secluded sofa opposite Imoen's table, watching the girl skilfully avoid her eye as one hour crept into two and on into three. Boredom had eased out the knot in her stomach by now, and Fritha barely even blinked when Urtis finally disengaged himself from conversation with Rosalind and came to sit down beside her, much closer than was necessary, snaking surreptitious arm along the back of the seat.

'Deserted you, has she?' he confirmed with a nod to the girl sat opposite, practically in Niklos' lap by now and laughing at something the dark-haired thief had said. 'And while she's off having fun, she's left you here all alone…'

Fritha shrugged, nonchalant in the face of neglect while Urtis edged closer.

'Well, I suppose the bards have it true. Love _is_ blind.'

He smiled wryly at her reply and leaned in slightly. 'You're very sharp, you know, Fritha.'

She smiled humourlessly as the girl opposite, her cheeks already flushed, helped herself to more wine.

'Aye, like Sekolah's teeth.'

Urtis laughed, a touch too loudly to be natural and she felt her hair stand on end as warm fingers stroked along the back of her neck.

'You're very pretty too…'

'_Imoen!_' she shrieked, springing from her seat to march over to her; her friend was not the only one who could be manipulative and this had gone on long enough. 'Imoen, it's been _three_ hours,' she began, hoping the slight stress would remind her of her promise, 'if we don't leave now, we'll miss the drop.'

'Oh, Fritha,' the girl laughed easily, dismissing her concerns with a wave of her hand, 'you saw how desperate he was; he'll wait. '

This was it, time to play her final card and force her hand.

'No, Imoen. No, he won't, because I will go and deliver it.'

'Alone? Now, Fritha, perhaps I should…' began Urtis at her shoulder. But he soon tailed off as it became apparent she was paying him no attention, her gaze still boring into the girl below. Imoen stared up at her, clear green eyes filled with an unexpected uncertainty as she wrestled with herself.

'Well… if you're sure…'

Fritha gazed down at her, suddenly empty; she really was letting her do it, letting her go out alone into the city after months of being chased by bounty hunters., after everything.

'Right… okay,' she heard herself answering, her whole future reduced to getting outside before she started to cry. 'Madam Rosalind, thank you for your hospitality. Niklos, please see she gets back to the inn safely. Goodnight.'

And without another look to her, Fritha turned and left.

That first shuddering breath of cold night air seemed to calm her slightly and the tears that had felt so immanent in the cloying heat of the salon were suddenly gone. The clouds had finally broken by now, the cool breezes sweeping round her as she set off back to the inn with only her anger to keep her warm. Well, that had confirmed it then; a direct choice been her and Niklos, one without work and envy blurring all the edges. Just one choice… and it had been _him_.  
A few days; that was all Imoen had know him for! But a few days was apparently enough to outweigh over ten years of friendship! Enough, at least, to see _her _walking home alone in the early hours of the morning, through one of the roughest districts in the Gate with only a vague idea of where she was heading.

'Serve her right if I _was_ attacked!' Fritha muttered savagely, slipping into the shadows of an alley as a group of drunks staggered past. And she spent the next few moments as she walked, imagining the happy scenario that saw her floating face down in the docks and Imoen, _racked_ _with guilt_ at being such a rubbish friend, leaving Niklos to spend the rest of her days in an Illmateran nunnery. But by the time she'd reached the inn, delivered the telescope and returned to their room, her righteous fury had dissipated somewhat leaving only worry for her friend and Fritha busied herself, changing into her nightclothes and making Imoen's bed, unable to sleep until she knew her friend was safe.

At last, a gentle tap at the window and Fritha pulled up the frame to peer out, finding Imoen clinging to the adjacent drainpipe.

'Finally, you're back,' she sighed, warm relief filling her as she reached out to help her in, 'I was getting worried.'

But her friend did not seem to share her joy, hardly glancing at her as she moved distractedly over to the foot of her bed and slowly took off her tunic.

'Hmm, yes… how did the drop go?'

'What? Oh, well, apart from the fact he squealed as soon as I came through the door, came charging over to me and then, rather belatedly, told me to "Shush", _very_ subtle…' Fritha laughed lightly before trailing off, watching as Imoen did not take up the shift she had laid out for her, but began to root in her pack, finally drawing out her best black tunic. 'Imoen!' she cried, her disappointment as the realisation dawned almost tangible, 'not _another_ party. You won't be fit for anything tomorrow.'

But the girl seemed unable to meet her eye, throwing on the tunic and turning to the dresser for her comb as she answered.

'I'm not going to another party, I- Niklos has asked me to go back to the guild with him … just him…'

Fritha collapsed to sit heavily on her bed, feeling as though something had taken all the air out of her.

'Imoen… I'm not sure-'

'Don't start, okay!' Imoen snapped, her friend's anger seeming to surprise them both and the girl paused in her brushing to lay a hand on her shoulder.

'I- I want this, Fritha… if Jaheira comes…'

'I'll make something up,' she replied dully, not even lifting her head. Imoen seemed to wait a moment, perhaps expecting her to speak again or look to her. But she just sat there, staring out at the dark streets wondering where the man in question had hidden himself, and eventually the girl went back to her brushing.

'Fritha… can I borrow-'

'Take it,' she answered, not caring what it was as she lay down on her bed, curling up to face the wall.

She heard Imoen sigh, the rattle of bottles on the dresser and finally the shrill groan of wood on wood as the window was pushed open again and her friend slipped out into the night.


	12. Friendship & Falsehoods

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Friendship and Falsehoods**

Imoen returned just before dawn. Fritha lay still under the sheets feeling the cool morning air sweep across the bare skin of her arms as the window was slowly eased open. She didn't turn, just waited for the girl to climb quietly through the window and move to shut it.

'Leave it open, the air is nice.'

She heard Imoen start slightly, but the girl made no reply and no one spoke again until after the telltale creak of Imoen's bed.

'I went to the guild,' she said simply and Fritha shifted on to her back, but did not look at her. In her peripherals she could see the girl sat up, staring at her hands, her expression unreadable.

'I- I don't love him, but… but, I'm glad I went.'

Fritha said nothing; there was nothing to say and, for once, Imoen seemed to agree and they sat in silence as sunlight slowly crept across the room. This moment had always been there, looming in the future, but she had never thought it would divide them as it had. They that had once been inseparable were now apart, and through no others doing but their own. Fritha lay there, a strange ambivalence rising within her; the desire to sit up, to scream at Imoen about last night, ask her why she was being this way. And the other part just wanting to forget it all, unable to bear the thought of actually voicing her anger only for her to be dismissed once more; it was one thing to suspect you had lost a friend, it was entirely another to push the point and watch as yourself was proved right…

Imoen eventually lay down and went to sleep, but Fritha stayed awake, listening to the sounds of the city stirring around her, feeling strangely detached from it all. She could have lain there all day, just staring at the ceiling letting her thoughts drift about her head, fits of emotion flaring and subsiding within her like the waves of the sea. But the idea of still being there when Imoen awoke, to have to talk to her or even just listen to her movements as she herself feigned sleep, was enough to eventually drive her from her bed. She rose, dressing without haste and leaving the still sleeping Imoen to move downstairs for breakfast.

Fritha took a table in the back, eating without any real care as to what it was; there was no food where she was now, no hunger, no taste. The bright maid came to clear the dishes away, her blithe chatter so quick and insular she barely left pause for any answer. Fritha let the noise drift over her, hardly lifting her head from her tea as the others gradually joined the table, Imoen appearing last, still looking very tired.

'Gracious, child, did thy sleep at all last night?' exclaimed Dynaheir at her approach, 'I have seen Rashemi snow with more colour to it!'

'Yes,' agreed Jaheira, casting an enquiring eye over them both, 'I came to check on you about two o'clock … your room was empty…'

Tired or not, Imoen certainly had some colour in her cheeks now, glancing quickly from the druid to the mage with a surprised and guilty look.

'I, ah-'

'We had one last job to do for the guild,' Fritha cut in evenly, glancing politely to the pair as she lied through her teeth, 'I know our reconnaissance was no longer necessary, but it was something we had agreed to beforehand and it may have seemed suspicious had we not attended.'

Jaheira nodded her acceptance, turning back to her porridge, the conversation returning to more mundane matters as Imoen took a seat across from her. Fritha deliberately kept her eyes down, the girl's likely gratitude inspiring another surge of anger, her mind keeping up a constant righteous chatter at her ear.

_Yes, _Imoen_, because that's what friends do, they look out for each other and help each other and don't leave each other to walk home on their own at three o'clock in the mor-! _

'Fritha!'

She started, glancing up to see the table staring at her.

'By Silvanus, girl, where are you today? I said, do you want more tea?'

xxx

Breakfast finished, Jaheira had insisted they go over their plan one final time before they returned to their rooms to fetch arms and bags, meeting outside the inn under the glare of what would prove to be another hot dry day in the Gate. But as they set off it became apparent that her and Imoen's behaviour at the table had not been as readily accepted as she had been led to believe. Fritha watched now, with growing certainty, as Khalid and Jaheira held a whispered conversation at the head of the group, before the latter slowed her pace, falling back past Minsc and his witch, past the vacant-looking Imoen, to where she was bringing up the rear alone.

Jaheira fell into step with her and they walked on in silence a moment, the girl keeping her eyes resolutely on the path ahead, waiting to see which tack the druid would take.

'Imoen seems rather quiet today…'

'We had an argument,' Fritha answered without the slightest hesitation. It worried her sometimes, how quickly the lies came to her. She didn't have to think of them, they were just there on her tongue, waiting for their moment.

'Active imagination,' Beth had said. Whelan had been less generous. 'A symptom of her deceptive nature,' he had deemed it, but Fritha suspected the truth lay somewhere in between. This was a good lie too. Jaheira would not press her further and it explained away her own mood as well. As suspected, the woman nodded once and seemed happy enough to leave it at that when-

'I understand the pressures working together can put on a relationship,' Jaheira began, unconsciously glancing to Khalid's back before her eyes were once more trained on her. 'You and Imoen have worked hard this past tenday, but do not let your failure to find the evidence you sought cause trouble between you. You did as much as anyone could have expected of you… that I expected of you.' She paused a moment, the words not coming easily as she added, 'I am proud of you.'

Fritha forced a smile, nodding her acceptance and Jaheira rejoined her husband, leaving her wishing that her problems with Imoenwere so simply dismissed.

Imoen watched as Jaheira finally moved past her back to Khalid, glancing behind to see Fritha alone once more. Imoen drew a breath and began to slow her pace, her stomach churned unpleasantly as she drew closer to the girl, a combination of tiredness, too much wine the previous evening and slight feelings of anxiety leaving her queasy. Last night felt like some wonderful dream but she had to admit, Fritha's mood towards her that morning had brought her back down to earth with a bump.

Yes, her friend had been a bit short with her the night before, and perhaps it had been a _little_ deserved on her part. But it was nothing compared to the coldness between them at breakfast and last night's belief that Fritha would just shrug things off as usual and the morning would find them giggling about the whole affair, had soon evaporated. But a desire to reassure herself things were still okay between them and that Fritha wasn't all that cross, spurred her on and finally Imoen broke the silence.

'Fritha?'

The girl glanced up as she fell into step with her, expression unreadable and Imoen's breakfast made another bid for freedom.

'Thanks for covering for me back there,' she continued with a hopeful grin that seemed to have no effect other than to cause Fritha to turn her attention back to the path ahead and Imoen sighed.

'Fritha, I want to talk to you about last night. Look, I know things ran over a touch, but I'd had a bit to drink and Niklos-'

'Threehours.'

'What?'

'_Things_ ran over by almost _three_ hours,' Fritha repeated, her voice slow and measured, and Imoen could hear the contempt behind it. Her stomach lurched again, the nagging doubt that perhaps she was not _entirely_ beyond reproach growing stronger, and as the feelings of guilt rose, so did her anger.

'Why are you being this way? You could have really enjoyed yourself last night; instead, you just sat on your own opposite me sulking. Niklos said-'

'Yeah, let's hear what _he's_ got to say,' Fritha cut in with a sudden venom, whirling to face her, 'cause gods forbid we actually have a conversation that doesn't involve him!'

Imoen mouthed indignantly a moment, pulling herself up to her full height.

'_Niklos said_ I shouldn't feel guilty; you made your own decision. No one forced you to stay and no one forced you to leave alone. Urtis was willing to walk with you.'

Fritha snorted, shaking her head as she turned back to the path. 'I'll bet he was.'

'And what's wrong with that? He was only trying to be nice, make sure you were safe.'

That got her attention and Fritha turned back to her, her manner softening as she considered this and Imoen took the chance to gently add, 'He had a real shout at us after you left… said we shouldn't have let you go…'

'Well, at least someone remembers how to act like a friend!' Fritha snapped, angry once more.

'Look-!'

'You two!'

They both started, glancing ahead to find Jaheira staring back at them, clearly shocked by their behaviour and Imoen was surprised to find herself stood in the shadow of a tall grey building, its architecture dark and imposing: the Iron Throne.

Fritha swept past Imoen without the slightest glance, too angry to risk another look at the girl as she moved through the group to walk boldly up to the door. A slight admission of vague guilt was as close to an apology as Imoen usually came, and in her heart, Fritha knew she should be glad there was enough between them for her to get that. But she was still bruised from a tenday of neglect and as much as she hated arguments, she was angry with Imoen and her usual patter of excuses for last night had only served to rile her further.

She drew a deep breath trying to calm herself for the task ahead, adamant she was not going to let another fight ruin what had been over a month in the building. Jaheira's plan to search the guild headquarters hinged on them being able to get to the private rooms without incident. And since the idea of sneaking them all in would be impossible, it required hiding of a different sort and Fritha's rather more dubious talent for stories was to be employed once more. Fritha drew another breath, bringing her hand up to the handle, when the door swung back of its own accord, a short and portly clerk appearing in the mouth.

'Madness, mad- oh!' he started, clearly surprised to find her there.

' Ness?' Fritha supplied with what she hoped was a friendly smile; something rather hard to pull off when your insides were knotted up with anger.

He laughed nervously, eyes flitting over the group behind her, clearly trying to work out who they were. Fritha coughed politely, bringing his attention back to her, giving up on friendliness as a lost cause, the mood she was in, and aiming instead for a cool superiority.

'Now this madness, it is general or does it have a specific source?'

'It- it's the acolytes on the fifth floor,' he finally stuttered, obviously deciding the course of least trouble was just to answer her, 'Gods know what Sarevok's left them working on, but the whole top floor is rumbling like it houses the Storm Lord himself!'

'Sarevok?' came Jaheira's voice behind her.

'Yes, Rieltar's son, he- you see!' the clerk cried, turning back to her, vindicated, as another crash from the floors above them shook the door in its frame. 'I'll not stay a moment longer in this madhouse and if you've any sense you'd stay away as well!'

His own words rousing him, he pushed past her, hurrying off still muttering to himself. Fritha sighed.

'Sadly, not an option.'

Fritha stepped through the open doorway into the entrance hall, the high-ceiling room airy but dark, light from the small high windows merely accentuating the shadows. The floor and surrounding pillars were tiled in the Calimshite style giving the room the cool echoing feel of a temple and Fritha could feel the skin of her arms bristle under her sleeves. She led them forward, the clamour of feet and armour echoing around that great room to leave her with no doubt that their presence there would not go unnoticed for long. Sure enough, before they had even reached the stairs, a guard, the Iron Throne insignia emblazoned on his tunic had appeared and was making for them with a purposeful stride. The group behind her tensed and Fritha stepped forward, all sharp words and bravado and they were cleared to proceed but moments later.

And so, she led them onward floor by floor, her mouth so full of falsehoods she wouldn't have been surprised to find her tongue was forked. She could sense the rest of them behind her now as they moved up the third floor staircase, on edge as they travelled further into that web, perhaps anxious that their next encounter would be their last.

Fritha smiled, unpleasant feelings of pleasure welling within her. She had felt so abandoned ever since they had entered the city, so at odds with herself. To be here, doing what she knew best, was calming for her and the idea that it was they who were now so full of worries filled her with a joy that was nothing less that spiteful. She half relished the idea too; of making some mistake, some slip of the tongue and bringing the whole building down about their ears. To force her hand into returning something of what she had been subjected to over the last few months.

'_Like you did at the mines?_' a voice reminded and she felt herself grow cold.

She had dreamt about them again last night, only this time there had been a boat nearby, Imoen and Niklos sat merrily in the stern watching her struggle against the slimy press of bodies. Suddenly, the idea of a massacre there did not seem so righteous and Fritha turned to throw a reassuring smile to those gathered behind before pushing open the door before her and striding into the fourth floor reception.

'At last, someone who looks like they could be of some assistance,' announced a loud commanding voice as soon as they'd entered and Fritha turned to see a stout matronly woman striding over to them. Fritha bowed politely.

'Of course, how may I assist you, madam?'

'Madam this. Madam that,' the woman snorted crossly, shoving her hands on to her hips, 'I have little desire to suffer anymore of your flat geniality. You may call me Emissary Tar and inform me when I am to begin my audience. I have some important business to conduct on with your masters on behalf of the Grand Dukes.'

'Emissary Tar, would it be untoward of me to inquire as to the nature of your meeting?'

The woman frowned slightly, her question obviously not the reply she'd been expecting. 'It is hardly a secret. The grand Dukes have sent me to negotiate a new iron treaty with Thaldorn. It appears that the Merchants' Consortium and The Seven Suns have voluntarily granted the Iron throne temporary control over their mines in order to simplify the cities supply structure and thereby strengthen the war effort… should it come to that. I am here to ensure we have access to that iron at a favourable price. I-'

A slight cough caused all to start and Fritha turned to see a wizened old clerk in the far doorway, peering at them through a pair of battered wire-rim spectacles.

'Emissary…' he paused to glance at the parchment in his hand, 'Tar?'

The woman nodded, sweeping off without another look to them.

'Thaldorn is ready for you. This way please,' he said, gesturing to the stairs behind him, before turning a beady eye back on them. 'And you are?'

'Reinforcements from Iriaebor; here for our first briefing,' Fritha answered, laying casual hand on her sword hilt and shifting her hips to a put a slight swagger in her stance. The clerk nodded, tutting about 'comings and goings' before shuffling off after Tar, pulling the door closed behind him.

A quick search of the room yielded nothing though, and they gathered together by the door to the stairs, each face a picture of apprehension. There was only one place left to look now. Fritha opened the door, moving to step through when a hand on her arm halted her.

'We shall go f-first, child,' Khalid smiled and she stepped aside to allow him and Minsc to pass her, hanging back slightly to fall into step with Jaheira as they climbed the wide gloomy staircase, the plain door at the top growing larger with each step. Whatever experiments the acolytes had been performing had clearly finished now and the room behind the door was quiet save for the murmur of voices.

'Ready?' whispered Khalid as they gathered on the small landing, his hand poised above the handle, 'On my signal. One, two, three, now!'

He threw open the door, and Fritha hardly had chance to draw her sword as they poured into the room as one, taking the five heavily armed men within by surprise. Battle erupted immediately, neither side seeming much to care about who they were fighting, the air filling with shouts and the crackle of magic. Imoen and Dynaheir had taken up positions in the doorway behind her, the others already locked in battle with the three of the acolytes and it was through this chaos Fritha saw her.

'Tar!' she shouted, her voice lost as a thunderclap exploded through the room to leave her ears ringing. The woman was stood, hunched in the far corner, looking strangely misshapen.

'Tar!' Fritha shouted again, tearing across the room and barrelling into a casting acolyte on her way before another invocation left them all profoundly deaf. 'Tar, come on, this way!' she finally gasped, taking the woman's sleeve only to stumble back in horror as Tar turned to show a face slack and pale as melting wax.

'Tar…' it hiss, the face still morphing hypnotically and she did not notice the long clawed hand until it was too late.

A flash of grey in her peripherals and Fritha jumped back, the sweep missing her chest to drag along her arm. She screamed, the pain so fierce and burning it took all her will not to drop her sword, the hilt slick in her grip as she stepped forward to force the blade under its sternum. The creature screeched shrilly, slumping forward on to her almost in an embrace, before she pushed it off, dropping her sword as well and clamping her other hand over her now sopping sleeve.

'Fritha!'

Fritha turned to see Imoen approaching, the others at her heels, the rest of the fighting evidently over.

'Gods, are you all right?' her friend gasped, staring at her arm and the blood soaked hand that covered it. Fritha shook her head, feeling faint and queasy, pain throbbing dully through the whole side of her body.

'Come on, let me see,' soothed Jaheira, pushing past her friend to gently take her arm and Imoen turned her attention to the body on the floor. It was completely grey now, the remains of its disguise faded in death, the stout body replaced with a long emaciated corpse.

'What is that?'

Fritha bit back a cry as Jaheira slowly straightened her arm to ease up the sleeve, the girl pouring all her focus into answering.

'I-I thought it was Tar, but…'

'It is a doppelganger…' supplied Khalid, crouching down to examine the body, 'I've never seen one outside of a book before though- well, not that I've known of anyway,' he added, looking up to her with smile, one side of his face red, the skin taut and shiny and Fritha realised she was not the only one to have been injured.

'Your face…?'

'What? Oh, yes,' he realised, touching his cheek lightly as he straightened. 'I got c-caught on the wrong side of a spell. Singed me a b-bit, but Jaheira soon patched me up. You're in good hands.'

'Sorry,' mumbled the druid on cue, Fritha hissing through another cry as the sleeve was finally eased up the last few inches, clinging painfully to every clot. 'Ah, there now… by Silvanus, he's made a mess of you, girl.'

The others moved off to search the bodies as the druid worked, only Imoen finding enough of interest to linger, though Fritha watched neither, keeping her gaze resolutely on the corpse, its eyes staring blankly back at her, bright as quicksilver. _ Breathe, just breathe…_

'By Mask, I think I can see bone!'

'Shut up, Imoen!' Fritha snapped, her stomach turning over and at her side she heard Jaheira sigh.

'Here, girl, make yourself useful and get a bandage from my bag. Now, just hold still…' she continued to her, and Fritha felt a prickling on her skin that intensified to a fierce sensation of pins and needles as the woman chanted quietly at her ear. 'There, now that should help it along. Do you have that bandage, Imoen?'

She did, and Fritha felt the pressure of it as it was wound tightly round her arm, the pain finally subsiding to a stiff ache.

'Thanks,' Fritha smiled to them both, testing it slowly before stooping for her sword, sheathing it as she turned back to gaze across the room, eyes travelling through the carnage to the hallway that led from it and as though reading her thoughts, Minsc started towards it and they followed.

They moved in silence along the corridor, branching off in pairs to check the adjoining rooms as they passed. The last door was ajar and Fritha pushed it open cautiously, allowing it to swing wide and give her an open view of the room beyond before taking a step inside, her eyes travelling over the room to rest on the inch of shoe that protruded from behind the desk and Fritha stepped round it with a cold smile.

'Hello.'

The man stared up at her, face blanched and eyes wide, his worst nightmares clearly all coming true in a few heady moments as not his guild house was stormed, but by the very group that had pursued them all this time.

'You- You're here to kill me, aren't you?' he tremoured, running a nervous hand through his dark wavy hair. Fritha raised an eyebrow in a look which she hope conveyed this as a distinct possibility.

'You can't kill me!' he cried, some steel creeping back into his voice, though he made no move to stand, 'don't you know who I am? I- I'm Thaldorn, one of the leaders of the Iron Throne!'

Imoen snorted. 'That's kind of why this is happening.'

'Stand aside, girl!' he commanded, his bravado impressing Fritha even as it angered her, the man at her feet making to stand. He did not get far; a well-placed sweep of her foot throwing him off balance and it was only her hand the neck of his shirt that stopped him falling back to the floor

'Tell me where the others are!'

He whimpered slightly, all previous bluster gone.

'I-I don't, ah!' Thaldorn cried out as she gave him a sudden shake, the increasing pain in her arm merely nurturing her mood. 'B-Brunos and Rieltar, they, they're at Candlekeep attending business with some benefactors from the south. Please…'

Fritha stared down at him, an icy dread filling her and she could hardly feel her arms as she dropped him, hands flying instantly to hilt and scabbard.

'You would dare sully my _home_ with this?'

A voice at her back, a hand on her shoulder. 'Fritha…'

She was trembling, so full of anger it barely registered and it took all of her control of re-sheath the sword and turn from him.

'Get him out of my sight!' she spat, Minsc and Khalid stepping forward to comply, not trusting herself to turn back until she'd heard him be escorted from the room. When she finally looked round, Jaheira was already searching the desk, Imoen and Dynaheir going through the bureau in the corner. 'Anything?'

The druid shrugged.

'Nothing. I've a ledger here that may lend some weight to our case, but little else.'

'And here's the documentation proving what Tar said before she- well.' Imoen tailed off, dropping her gaze to the papers and Fritha frowned.

'Bring it all; it's time to visit Scar.'

They emerged from that grey tomb of a building, blinking in the glare of a high hot sun as the temple bells marked midday. Jaheira watched as Thaldorn stumbled down the steps before her, her husband and the ranger on either side, the Wychlaran at his back, ready with a spell. The druid sighed to herself. The man of course could not be turned loose, but at the same time, she wondered what could really be done with him when it still seemed to be their word against his. In fact, she considered as she glanced behind her to the two girls bringing up the rear, the only good thing to come from the whole exercise seemed to be Fritha and Imoen were talking again. Whatever petty quarrel that had parted them dissolving when it was revealed their home was in danger. Imoen looked even paler than she did at breakfast, keeping an almost constant murmur at Fritha's ear while the girl herself remained silent, her expression resolute and dark.

They had reached the garrison by now, the few soldiers stood chatting outside looking up with interest as the two men led Thaldorn to the doors and Jaheira watched Fritha move past her to the head of the party to speak with the guard, the druid dropping back to where Imoen now stood alone anxiously twisting her fingers.

'Are you well, Imoen?'

The girl nodded but had no chance to answer as the doors before them opened and Scar appeared.

'Take him inside,' he barked to the surrounding soldiers without even a question as to who he was or why they'd brought him, two stepping up to escort Thaldorn into the garrison as their commander turned his attention to the girl before him. 'The girl from Candlekeep,' he confirmed, smiling broadly, 'you could have given them your name though, my spies at least managed to learn that, Fritha.'

'You got my message then.'

Jaheira frowned. What message was this? She glanced to the girl at her side, but Imoen did not look as though this news surprised her and Jaheira brought her attention back to the pair.

'Yes,' Scar continued slowly, giving the girl before him an appraising look, 'and since it was given to my men around the time the nearby temple of Gond was being robbed, I wonder if you are here about that.'

Imoen shifted slightly at her side and Jaheira kept her eyes fix resolutely ahead so as not to draw attention to it. So, they had been around when the Gondites were being robbed. Jaheira dreaded to think what they had been up to, but Fritha did not seemed fazed by the implications of his question.

'Afraid not,' she answered dispassionately, 'I was just heading back to the Elfsong after finishing my surveillance shift. I haven't heard anything about it at the guild either, but I get the impression there is more than one operating in the city.'

'Yes, my contacts said two of you had joined Alatos' lot, wouldn't have pegged you as the sort.'

Fritha shrugged absently. 'I've done worse work in my time.'

'Aye,' he nodded and said no more on the subject, sweeping narrowed eyes over the rest of them before turning back to her. 'So I assume you've information of another sort for me; your _surveillance_ turn up anything?'

The girl fixed him with an even gaze.

'We've information on the Iron Throne.'

'The Iron Throne?' he repeated, his cool manner changing to one of sudden urgency, 'Please, come with me, the Duke himself will wish to hear this firsthand.'

Moments later found them all upstairs, sat before a large oak desk, Duke Eltan, one of the Lords of Baldur's Gate, sat behind it and seven cups resting untouched in between. Jaheira watched the dark-haired man before her listen patiently as together they recounted their travels of the last few tenday. Scar had been correct; the duke was very interested in the Iron Throne, and when they at last finished, he remained silent a moment; his eyes narrowed, running a casual finger along the edge of his neatly cropped beard in a look of deep contemplation.

'Well, that is quite a story,' he at last began, a slight smile warming his expression as he added, 'and one I have no trouble believing either. Though the general opinion of the city holds the Iron Throne as heroes, I have been suspicious of their actions for some time now. That they were the only group in all the city who had a seemingly endless supply of iron when all other sources were dry; it seemed too convenient to me. All who we captured from the caravan raids claim to be working for the Zhentarim though.'

Eltan shrugged, clearly seeing no need to continue, Khalid taking the moment to supply, 'The g-groups they use, they are Black Talon and Chill and m-may well believe this to be the case.'

'Indeed? Well, that would explain the efficiency of their operation. However, this knowledge is of little use without proof to back it up.'

'But what about the evidence we brought?' interrupted Imoen, suddenly bolt upright in her chair, 'And the doppelganger!'

The duke looked a touch surprised by her outburst, but to his credit, merely answered mildly.

'The accounts show unspecified payments to something called 'operations', unusual, but nothing to allow further investigation and my men have searched the building and found no evidence of the creature you described.'

'But-!'

'I am not saying you are lying,' he soothed, leaning back in his chair with a slight sigh, 'but without evidence, my hands are tied. Thaldorn will confess to nothing. He claims you raided his building and killed his colleagues in part of your ongoing and _unfounded _campaign against his guild.

'Unfounded?' Imoen snorted, and looked as though she would say something else, but Fritha laid a gentle hand upon her arm, an unreadable look passing between the friends, and the girl finally leaned back in her chair, sullen but silent.

'I understand you are frustrated. I will keep Thaldorn here for as long as possible, but that may not be long. The city has never had such troubles, what with the raids and the trading costers behaving oddly as they are. The Iron Throne has gained much support in the city and will continue to do so, as long as war threatens.'

'And you yourselves do not look blameless in this to the outside eye,' Eltan added with the briefest glance to Imoen, as though worried this would also provoke a strong reaction. But she remained silent and he continued, rising from his chair, to cross to the large bookcase that lined the back wall, removing and replacing volumes as he spoke.

'Perhaps it would be best if you were to leave the city for a while and I have just the task for it. You say that the other two leaders are in Candlekeep, well, it seems the only way may be to go there and investigate this yourselves. Use the knowledge of Thaldorn's imprisonment to our advantage, we may be able to wring a confession from one of them yet.' He paused, a book in hand as he added, almost to himself, 'And I'd be interested to know who they're meeting there; this escalating crisis with Amn seems a little too engineered for my liking. Here,' Eltan continued, breaking from his reverie to hand the book to Fritha, who received it without a word. 'A tome with which you can purchase your entry to Candlekeep; you are familiar with their custom?'

'Yes,' the girl replied, her eyes gaining a distance to them as she stared at the worn cover, 'yes, quite intimately.'

'Good, very good. Here, Scar will escort you to the city gates and Gods' speed.'


	13. Homecoming

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Homecoming**

And so it was that as the long hot days crept slowly from Kythorn to Flamerule, they made their way southward back to the place where, for the two girls at least, it had all begun. Those few days found Fritha even quieter than usual, clearly anxious about what mark the Iron Throne had made on her home, while Imoen was more full of talk than ever, though as a symptom of her own worries or just high-spirits, Jaheira could not tell. It had become clear after the first day though, that Imoen's maddening chatter would be fraying more than just her own nerves and her dear Khalid had taken it upon himself to play warder to them both, patiently talking to them through the long days of endless walking, allowing Imoen her chatter whilst trying to draw Fritha out with gentle questions. Imoen had seemed happy enough, talking at length about the thieves and some Niklos boy, while had Fritha responded politely to his questioning, always with a slight smile, and Jaheira suspected the girl knew what her husband was trying to do, though she remained pointedly silent when any mention of the thieves' guild was made.

But all the waiting was over now. They had made camp last night at the crossroads on the Coast Way and the morning found them walking the final hour or so to the Keep unusually quiet, Fritha's nerves seeming to infuse the rest of them.

Perhaps it was just her, but Jaheira thought the girl had seemed to take extra care over her appearance that morning. She had washed the night before and was dressed in the fresh blue tunic she'd been wearing on the day they'd first met, her hair neatly gathered up and pinned in place, for once behaving itself. The breeze was from the west and Jaheira could smell the salt in the air as they drew near when, at last, the trees thinned before them and the library fortress of Candlekeep filtered into view.

The druid smiled slightly. It had been years since her or Khalid had visited Gorion here, but the sight of the place, grey towered and tall, rising up from the imposing cliffs of its peninsula like a great stone tooth, always made for a heartening view. She glanced back to the copper-haired girl behind her, hoping to see this sanguinity in her too, but the girl's eyes were trained on the horizon and as Jaheira looked back, she noticed why.

Outside the gateway and ready to receive them: the Gatewarden.

Grey haired and bearded, he was well on in his years, but an aura of power hung about him still and he seemed at home in his armour, his hand resting causally on his sword hilt as he watched them draw closer. They walked up as a group, Fritha neither pressing forward nor hanging back, her state of equal measures anxiety and excitement, balancing her firmly at their centre as they drew near, until finally he called out to them.

'Hold Travellers! Mean you to enter Candlekeep? Before you will be allowed entrance, you must donate a volume of great value to our libraries.'

And suddenly the girl seemed swathed in an assured calm, pushing gently past herself and Khalid to the head of the group, smiling serenely.

'We have your tome, Warden.'

'Fritha!' he cried, coming forward to take the book she proffered and heartily shake her hand, 'It is fine to have you back again within these hallowed grounds.'

'And Imoen, dear, welcome back!' he continued as the other girl came forward to greet him, 'Well, go in, go in, I know many will be happy to know you are safe.'

Imoen nodded, smiling, leading the way through the gates as the Warden pulled Fritha gently to one side and, with a cursory glance to the rest of them, whispered audibly, 'And please have your less civilized friends refrain from causing any trouble. We are very strict here, as you know.'

The girl's grin had never been so broad.

Fritha stared about her at the place she had been so longing to return to and yet afraid of as well; scared to discover what damage the Iron Throne could have wrought in her absence. But to find the Warden still at the gate had allayed her worries and it was a truly heartening to look upon the outer keep in the bright mid-morning sun, the lay brothers bustling about their work, watched over by guards who drifted in pairs about the walls, all as it should be.

She was home.

With a smile, Fritha led them forward, Imoen at her side, the rest hanging back slightly as though wary of their welcome. Through the smaller arch of the inner wall she went and into the gardens beyond, the neat beds of lavender and camomile vivid in the sunlight while Tethtoril's bees weaved blithely amongst them, alone in the gardens save for the few sages who had dared to leave their precious libraries.

'Fritha!'

Fritha glanced up at her name and her heart leapt at the sight of Phlydia, dark red dress hitched up to her calves as she limped across the lawns towards them, a cane gripped tightly in her free hand.

'And Imoen too!' the old woman exclaimed as she reached them, out of breath and beaming, 'I wondered if you were ever to return! When I heard of Gorion's passing, I must admit I feared the worst. Hull and Fuller went out to gather his body not long after you left, dear, but said you were nowhere to be seen.'

Fritha swallowed, throat suddenly tight. All that time out there in the world, it hadn't felt real, almost as though Gorion was still there waiting for her, that he wasn't truly gone. But now…

She closed her eyes, her mind numb as she heard herself ask, 'Where is he…?'

'Interred, dear? The crypts under the temple, in the tombs reserved for the greatest of us. I am sure Parda could show you, should you…'

Phlydia trailed off as Fritha turned away, a horrible emptiness blossoming low in her stomach. How could she have thought returning here, where her father now rested, where her memories of him were at their strongest, would be anything but torturous?

'So what happened to you?' asked Imoen, breaking the silence as she gestured to the woman's cane and Phlydia laughed, almost gratefully, hitching up her hem to show them a slightly swollen ankle.

'Happened just a few days ago. One of those blasted cats got under my feet and down I went. Whelan patched me up straight away, but it's still a little stiff. It was Falex, the adorable little beast,' she continued with obvious affection, 'I haven't seen him since though, he's probably hiding from me until he thinks I've forgiven him.'

They all laughed at that and warmth engulfed Fritha again. Memories or not, it _was_ good to be home.

'Anyway, enough of my nonsense,' Phlydia smiled, how are you finding life outside these walls?''

Fritha grinned, glancing to her friend to raise an eyebrow and they began.

'Huge-'

'And scary-'

'Full of bandits -'

'And bounty hunters!'

'Oh, you two,' Phlydia chuckled, messing Imoen's hair gently much to the girl's annoyance, 'always full of fun! Really, how are you finding it?'

Fritha and Imoen stared incredulously at each other before breaking to identical smiles, Fritha throwing an arm about the woman as she spoke.

'Oh, Phlydia, never change, you must promise me. It does my heart good to think of you here like this.'

The old woman looked puzzled but laughed all the same, making them both promise to come and visit her before they left, before bidding them farewell and they finally walked the last few steps and entered the keep.

Through those great oak doors and there she was, stood at the entrance just as though she'd returned from Winthrop's or the barracks, as though she had never left at all. And the peace of the place. The all-pervading air of calm, heavy with knowledge and secrets… she had almost forgotten.

It was dim inside compared with the brightness of the grounds, the tall narrow windows set high in the walls behind her doing little to lift the gloom. Dust swirling in the shafts above them like motes of gold, the statue of Alaundo the Wise watching her with serene stone eyes. The aisle before them led into the keep proper, lined with the bookcases that made up the Hall Library where the general books and tomes that could be found anywhere were stored. It was empty save for the odd monk wandering between the aisles, the only sound the rustle of pages as they read.

Fritha led them forward, on through the library into the high-ceilinged refectory and down the steps into the kitchens. All was just as it has always been, the large light room dominated by the scrubbed wooden table that ran the length of it. Bright copper pans of every size and bundles of herbs hanging from racks above them, the two great fires roaring merrily in spite of the heat, while every one of the high windows were thrown open to tempt the breeze. Breakfast had been served and cleared by now, and she found Beth as she had often done, bright eyed and ruddy cheeked, ambling to and fro between various pots and ovens while Theoden and Jessup, too old now for the more strenuous chores, were sat chatting quietly at the end of the table, chopping vegetables as they talked.

The plump woman straightened from stirring a large black pot, sighing as she mopped her brow with her apron.

'Here, have you two finished with those yet?'

Theoden glanced up to answer when his eyes fell on them and Fritha finally spoke up.

'Beth?'

The woman turned at the familiar sound, her face a mix of surprise and joy.

'Fritha?' she gasped, rushing forward to pull her into an embrace. 'Oh, my songbird! My little lark's flown back to me! How have you been, my chick? Stand back, let me have a look at you. Still as thin as a reed, I see. Oh,' she exclaimed, finally tearing her eyes away from her charge to notice the rest of them, 'and who are these with you?

'Well, there's a welcome for you!' said Imoen archly, a grin warming her words, 'Finally gone senile then, have you?'

'You, I only wish I could forget!' the woman laughed, making to cuff the back of Imoen's head as the girl danced past her to steal a carrot from Theoden.

'Beth,' continued Fritha quietly, 'this is Jaheira, Khalid, Dynaheir and Minsc.'

'Well met, friends,' Beth smiled, suddenly grave, her arm still about Fritha who seemed more comfortable than Jaheira had ever seen her, 'I have no doubt that Fritha being around to return to me must be, in part at least, some of your doing and I thank you for it. But enough of this formality,' she continued, brightening and pulling out the nearest chair, 'have a seat and I shall get us all something to drink.'

She moved off into the pantry while they seated, Fritha following Beth to wait by the door, placing each thing passed to her on the nearby workbench. Imoen was already sat next to Theoden, listening with interest as the man shook his head, smiling wistfully as he spoke.

'How you girls have grown… I still remember you, Fritha, running about the keep in your swaddling clothes, pestering the elders and spooking the cows. Ain't that right, Jessup?'

'Surely was,' mumbled the man next to him, no pause in his chopping.

'Yep. Of course, you never did stay in those rags of yours for long.'

Fritha laughed brightly, no hint of embarrassment as she moved over to the table and handed out the cups.

'Well, that's hardly surprising. I know I was small for my age, but four years is a bit old for swaddling!'

'Ah ha. You'd be naked as a jaybird the moment someone had their back turned on you. I remember the day that Blackstaff fellow came floating in and there you were, tearing around the outer keep with Gorion hot on your trail. Took the cloak right off his back, you did. Scampered off and made yourself a fine little nest in the stables. Such a lark, eh, Jessup?'

'Thought I'd end myself laughing, I did,' he affirmed in his sober mumble; though it looked to be a real hazard for the two girls, especially Imoen who was laughing so hard her face was in danger of matching her hair.

'You and me both! Gorion was shaking like a leaf, he was so mad. Nobody was sure what to do and then Khelben mutters something and catches you up with some great spectral hand. Drops you right in front of him, grabbing his filthy cape in the process and gives the biggest laugh you ever heard. And everyone in the keep is laughing like mad, except you Fritha, you were just stood there wondering what all the fuss was about.'

'Oh hush up, you two, you'll embarrass the poor girl!' scolded Beth, bustling over to the table to set down a wooden tray, unloading a large silver teapot as well as a dish of honey and small plate of sliced lemons.

Jaheira smiled, amused more by the sight of Imoen and Fritha than the story. The girl had been too pensive lately, even taking into account the Iron Throne; some secret worry pressing on her. It did the druid's heart good to see her like this, so calm and free of care. The tea now served Fritha straightened, a gentle smile still pulling at her mouth.

'I'll just go up and visit my old room; I trust I can leave them in your capable hands, Theoden?'

'Ah, surely you can, I've a hundred stories of you when you were younger -you and _Imoen_ both,' he added with a mischievous smile and the thief suddenly looked a whole lot less amused.

'Keep an eye on them, will you?' Fritha continued with a smile to the old cook, who chuckled merrily and assured her she'd try, before the girl bade farewell to them all and skipped up the steps to the refectory.

Back through in to the Hall Library, Fritha slowed her pace to a ponderous stroll, moving between the rows of books just enjoying the feel of being back home. She had been so afraid before, of what could have happened, that to come back and find everyone safe and well had left her almost giddy with relief. She breathed deeply, drawing in great lungfuls of dusty air, revelling in the smell of parchment and leather.

'Fritha? Is that you?'

Fritha turned, looking back to see the tall, narrow figure of Ferescian, precentor of the temple marching up the aisle towards her.

'Master Cantor.'

'It _is _you. I could recognise that hair anywhere,' he smiled, pushing the score he had been studying into his sleeve. 'So, you have returned to us at last. The whole of the keep was in chaos when Gorion was brought back without you. Then the girl, Imoen slipped out after you…' he trailed off, shaking his head sadly, 'troubled times, child, troubled times. But,' he continued, brightening, 'you are back among us now, and safe by the look of things. Tell me, did your jaunt in the world manage to rid you of that silly fear you had of singing in front of others?'

Fritha smiled slightly, biting her lip as she shook her head and Ferescian laughed heartily.

'I told Gorion to send you along to the temple. A couple of descants in front of the full tenth-day congregation would have set you to rights!'

Fritha laughed too, the image of her stood alone before the altar staring petrified and silent at the assembled residents of Candlekeep, a surprisingly amusing one. She turned slightly and instinctively they fell into step, continuing slowly along the aisle as they spoke.

'So what has happened in my absence?'

'Well, lay-brother Marcus has managed to add another two notes to the top of his range and the translations of the ancient prayer-songs are nearly complete, but I am sure you enquire after other matters,' he said, smiling wryly at his own wit before continuing. 'To be honest, since the havoc of your departure, everything has seemed rather quiet. The Carleck Order stayed for the tenday they were due and then left, and Khelben Blackstaff was here for a couple of days in early Kythorn, but that is all really. The Readers are considering closing Candlekeep's gates to all until this business with Amn and the Gate calms down.'

Fritha nodded slowly, wondering vaguely if such a course of action wouldn't prove to be a touch belated.

'I hear that the Iron Throne are staying here now.'

'Why, yes, child,' the cantor confirmed, looking surprised she knew, 'you are correct. Though I don't know why they bothered. I haven't seen them in the libraries since their arrival, they just spend all day holding meetings in the study rooms off the South Library.'

'They haven't done anything strange, then?'

'Strange?' he repeated, giving her a puzzled glanced, 'you mean aside from spending an exorbitant amount to enter the libraries, only to use it as a glorified meeting hall, no.'

'Do you think it would be possible for me to speak with them?'

Ferescian shrugged, clearly confused as to why she'd want to, though he kept his curiosity to himself.

'Well, they usually break at around three and the kitchens send up refreshments for them, I suppose you could try to gain an audience then.'

They had reached the central aisle by now, the stairs to her right while the doors back into the grounds stood ajar at the opposite end of the hall.

'Well, I had best get back to the temple,' he smiled with a slight gesture to the doors, 'I should be glad to see you at evensong though, if you have the time.'

She bowed slightly, hands folded under her bust.

'I will attend, and thank you.'

The cantor smiled, patting her shoulder fondly, 'You're most welcome, child.'

Fritha watched as Ferescian swept off down the aisle, the light from the windows above bathing him in gold as he retreated, before he finally reached the doors and was lost in the glare of the outside. Slowly, she turned and made her way up the stairs, stopping at the second floor to cut through the South Library, passing the study rooms that had once housed her lessons with the old mage Jesseth. The knowledge they were, at that very moment, occupied by those who could well be engineering the downfall of the entire Sword Coast, not resting well with her.

Classes had begun to break for lunch by now and the library about her was filling up with acolytes and their tutors, all slowly making their way down to the refectory. Everyone she met welcomed her, speaking of Gorion and their regret at his passing, but with each time it was easier to hear and, at last, she found herself accepting their condolences as remembrances of a great man who she had been lucky enough to know as a father. Yes, there was still the sorrow of losing him, but it could not overshadow the happiness she felt as she passed some person or place and memories of him surfaced.

And it was on the west staircase as she was recalling how he'd caught her and Imoen taking turns to race each other down the banister that another called out to her and Fritha found herself looking up into a pair of piercing grey eyes.

'Hold, you are Fritha, are you not?'

'Yes,' she answered promptly, the familiar scenario somewhat different this time as she stared up at a young man, not much older than herself, though tall and broad for all his youth, dark shaggy hair curling about his collar. 'I-I'm sorry have we met?' she stuttered, feeling strangely nervous, 'I feel I should recognise you, but…'

He smiled slightly, but it did not reach his eyes.

'Yes, we have met, but only briefly. I am Koveras, I had business with you father, Gorion. I was sorry to hear of his passing. I have had a ring of his in my possession for some time now, but, considering what befell him, I think it best that you should have it; something to remember him by.'

She smiled gently, forcing herself to ignore the uneasy churning of her stomach.

'That is very kind of you, but I have no need of anything to keep him in my thoughts. If he gifted it to you, then you should keep it and remember him as I will.'

The youth stared down at her, expression unreadable, before breaking into a sudden smile.

'Some would see your independence as a flaw, but I can appreciate its value in certain circumstances. Fare thee well, Fritha. We shall no doubt meet again.'

And without another glance, he swept past her and continued down the staircase. She stood, waiting until his footsteps had faded before flying up the stairs to the next floor, suddenly wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. Such was her haste that Fritha didn't notice Piato, one of the younger acolytes, until she was practically upon him, just stopping short of barrelling into his shoulder as he turned to greet her.

'Fritha! Good to see you!' he cried, his round boyish face split with a grin as he balanced his books in the crook of one arm in an effort to free a hand to shake, 'I heard you were back. How are you?'

'Fine, fine,' she answered, trying to dismiss her own concerns as well as his, 'Here, do you know anything about Koveras?'

'Koveras?' he repeated, before dropping his voice, leaning in slightly as he continued, 'well, I haven't met him myself, but the other students are fair unnerved by him and Karen swears she saw him in the Green Library the other day, reciting one of Alaundo's prophecies.'

'So? They're there to be read by anyone.'

'True enough…' he nodded slowly, with the manner of one setting the scene for a revelation, 'except he wasn't reading… he had the book open in front of him but with his eyes closed and was reciting every word from memory.'

Piato drew back, smiling with dark pride as though he just finished telling some fantastic horror story and Fritha tried to suppress the sudden shudder that swept over her, forcibly turning her mind to other things.

'So, how have you been?'

He smiled, shaking his head woefully.

'Me? Oh, I pine for the days when you and Imoen still called Candlekeep home. You brought a bit of life to these walls.'

Fritha smiled in spite of herself.

'Well, Imoen's down in the kitchens. I'm sure she'd _love_ to see you,' she said and was well rewarded as the young scholar turned a glorious shade of "erubescent red".

'Oh, r-really?' he stuttered, clearly trying to sound nonchalant, 'Well, I'm supposed to be in with the Chanter this afternoon, but I'm sure I could spare a moment to look in on her. I shall no doubt see you later, Fritha.'

Fritha smirked, her heart tripping lightly as she watched him hurry off.

'No doubt…'

It was now just a few paces along the hall to her room and her heart was still soaring as she came to the familiar door and slipped through, turning slightly to shut out the world, breathing in the place that was hers alone. Everything was just as she'd left it; books had priority in Candlekeep and her room was only just large enough for a bed and chest, the back wall dominated by a long narrow window that looked south over the grounds and the forest that lay beyond. Fritha dropped her bag where she stood and threw herself on to the bed with a wild joy, falling contentedly back to stare up through the window, her pale blue quilt mirroring the cloudless sky.

It was nice to be back, to be in her own room with those she knew and trusted about her and yet…

Fritha sighed gently, rolling on to her side to look down at the keep below r, the people moving about their work, oblivious to her watching. There was no place for her here anymore, and not through their doing but her own. The world had changed her and though she would always think of Candlekeep as her home, it was not somewhere she could see herself living any more. Fritha sighed again, laying back down and stretching, her arms pushing into the pillow above her and it was then she heard the familiar rustle of paper. She sat up, slipping a hand beneath her pillow to close around a square of parchment, the name upon it in that familiar scrolling hand,

"_Fritha_"

Moments later and she was stumbling blindly along the corridor, flying down the stairs to burst through the heavy mahogany doors that opened on to the Green Library. The room felt empty, almost tomb-like, as the doors clicked shut behind her, not even the familiar whispering of paper breaking the stillness. Her legs seemed to know instinctively where to carry her, and as though the feel of the place had crept into her very blood, she moved along the rows of books with slow measured steps, fingers brushing the spines until she finally stopped.

There, the words in faded gold along the spine, almost obscured by her fingers: _The Time of Troubles_.

It was as though another had control of her as she took down the book, the weight much heavier than she was expecting as she rested it upon her arm, letting it fall open where it willed.

And there it was in the faded ink. The prophecy of Bhaal and his children…

Her prophecy.

She stared at the words for a long time after she had finished reading; just staring at them while her dazed mind went over the details again and again, the script of the page before her and the voice of Gorion's final letter echoing round her head.

_"The Lord of Murder shall perish…" _

…the gods were forced into mortal shells…

_"But in his doom he shall spawn a score of mortal progeny…" _

…he forced himself upon your mother…

_"Chaos will be sown from their passage." _

…you are a special child…

A sound, a hiss, from the office behind her and Fritha whirled, almost dropping the book in her haste. The sudden realisation that she was not alone filled her with an unreasoned dread and with her heart in her throat, she eased the tome back on to the shelves. She stopped again, waiting for another sound, any indication that she had been heard, but there was only silence and with slow deliberate movements, she crept forward, giving the open door a gentle push and Parda swung into view. Relief flooded her at the sight of the kind old priest, hunched low over the desk before him with his back to her, and she took a small step forward.

'Parda?'

He did not turn round though, did not even start, but carried on as though he had not heard her.

_It's because he knows… _

She closed her eyes, suppressing the paranoia that welled within her and took another step into the room.

'Father? What are you doing?'

At last, he sighed and in a voice tinged with the slightest impatience, he answered her.

'I am studying, child.'

Fritha took another step forward and a great shuddering gasp left her as she stumbled back against the doorframe, recoiling at the sight laid out before her. Soft grey fur, matted and dull, while glassy amber eyes stared out at her from a head that lolled unnaturally on the polished wood of the desk.

'That- that's Falex…' she breathed, finally tearing her eyes away from the poor cat's corpse to stare at the unmoving figure of the priest, 'What- what are you doing?'

'It died and I am studying it,' Parda repeated slowly, a real anger to his impatience now, 'the bones, the muscle structure, how its fur lies. I must know it all…'

'Father,' she ventured, starting forward again, 'does Phlydia know-?'

'Must you pry so hard?' he hissed, slamming his hands on the desk and whirling on her, and the air filled with screaming as the old man's eyes flashed silver.

xxx

Jaheira smiled, following Imoen as she skipped along the aisles and hallways of the libraries, exchanging greetings with those they met as they looked for her friend. Theoden had, as promised, some very amusing tales of the girl when she was younger, though Imoen's embarrassment at them had paled into insignificance when the young boy, Piato, had turned up in the kitchens. The two had shared a rather disjointed conversation, which involved quite a bit of stalling and very little eye contact, until the afternoon bell had rung and he had hurried off, but not before a shy promise to meet later in the gardens had passed between the two.

They had waited another hour after that, enjoying lunch in the refectory with the other residents before Imoen, clearly restless, declared it was time to take the hunt to Fritha and as a group they had set off. Though she looked to have at least visited her room, Fritha was no longer there and they were currently in the Green Library, making their way to the east staircase, when Imoen reached the end of the aisle and shrieked with triumph before disappearing. Jaheira quicken her pace, the others behind her as she reached the corner, following Imoen round to see Fritha stood further along the aisle, her back to them all.

'Fritha!'

The girl did not seem to hear though, mumbling to herself as she backed along the aisle, her attention still fixed on the door at the end.

'Fritha?'

At last, she turned and Jaheira felt her stomach drop as she noticed the vacant look in her eyes, a dark red smear still drying on her tunic.

'It was all here. Everything, right here… all this time.'

'Fritha,' Jaheira snapped, grabbing her shoulders and forcing the girl to look at her, 'what happened here?'

Finally, the girl seemed to realise they were there, looking round at them all with wide eyes before something seemed to click and she was suddenly full of urgency, struggling against her grip.

'I-I have to show you something! Please, you must come!'

'Hold!' cried a voice behind them and Jaheira straightened, turning to the source, the distraction allowing Fritha to finally shake free, though she made no move to run. A tall guard, fully armed and with a squad at his back, stood at the end of the aisle, his eyes trained on the girl at her side.

'You, Fritha, ward to the late Gorion of Candlekeep, stand accused of murder.'

'No,' the girl cried, 'you don't understand, it wasn't Parda, it was-'

'You are correct, I do not understand,' the man continued with a frown, 'I accuse you of the murders of the Iron Throne delegates, Brunos Costak and Rieltar Anchev.'

'What? H-How can this be?' Khalid questioned, his eyes flitting worriedly from Fritha to the guard.

'It is known that the accused was making enquires after the victims shortly before the crime took place, and evidence retrieved from amongst her belongings gives motive. And, now to find her in such a state…' he trailed off, gesturing to her tunic as though the rest spoke for itself.

'But the child alone could not have done this,' continued Dynaheir, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow imperiously, 'or do we also stand accused?'

The guard shifted uncomfortably.

'I do not have the authority to make such assumptions, but if you give yourself up now, you will be assured of a fair trial.'

There really didn't seem to be anymore to say on either side and Jaheira looked down to the girl who had been silently listening to them argue, her eyes staring out at something she could not see.

'…I shall come.'

'_We_ shall come,' Jaheira rephrased, laying a hand on the girl's shoulder as she stared defiantly back at the commander, just daring him to oppose her. He merely nodded though, instructing his men to let them pass.

'Please follow me. I'm sure everything will be sorted out quickly.'

He was not wrong in his assumption, though it was hardly what any of them could have expected. They followed the commander without question, relinquishing their weapons and belongings to the guards, and mere moments later found them locked together in a small cage in what had but hours before clearly been just another room in the cellars.

They waited and waited, Fritha's eyes trained on the heavy wooden door opposite until finally it opened and her heart leapt only to grow suddenly cold at the sight of who had entered: Jesseth, Whelan and the Keeper of the Tomes, Ulraunt. And it was so suddenly clear that she had to fight to keep from laughing, loud and wild, as she realised what she had so peaceably lead them all into.

There would be no trial.

Fritha watched as the men filed into the room, Ulraunt to stand in the centre before the cage, while the mage and the priest flanked him to take up positions either side of the open doorway. The old Keeper stood looking at her for what felt like an age and she forced herself to meet his eyes; not defiant or angry, but the clear calm gaze of an innocent.

'So Fritha,' he finally began, his contempt for her twisting his lips to an ugly sneer, 'you have sullied your father's name by defiling his home and bringing ruin to a peace that has lasted here for centuries. I formally accuse you of the murders of Brunos Costak and Rieltar Anchev and your transgressions will be punished in the most sever form.'

'I have done nothing, Ulraunt,' Fritha countered, only just keeping the whine of panic from her voice, knowing it would do little to help her defence but unable to suppress it completely, 'why do you accuse me?'

'Why have I accused you?' he repeated, with a humourless laugh that only Jesseth attempted to share, 'You were seen fleeing the murder scene. Koveras found the identifying ring of a Shadow Thief assassin in your personal effects and gold minted in Amn. I feel that this is strong enough proof to accuse you.'

'Accuse me, yes,' she cried, gripping the bars, 'but to try me also?'

Ulraunt, paused, giving her a measured look, perhaps not expecting such a perceptive observation from his murderer. But after a moment, he shrugged slightly and the dismissive air of austerity was about him once more.

'Usually no, but there are… extenuating circumstances in this case. From everything we have seen and found it is not hard to figure what your purpose was. From what I have been told, you have been trying to place all the misfortunes of the Sword Coast squarely on the shoulders of the Iron Throne for the last few months now. I assume you and your friends are assassins in the employ of Amn.'

'They had nothing to do with this!' Fritha shouted, but Ulraunt carried on as though she had not spoken.

'Perhaps you were sent up north to create discord in the region before an Amnish invasion. It matters little, on the morrow, you and your friends are to be sent to Baldur's Gate where appropriate punishment will be administered and never again shall I have to suffer your presence here. Farewell.'

And with a last disdainful look he turned and marched smartly out. Jesseth instantly dropped any semblance of composure and took a step towards the cage, his smile wide as he rubbed his hands together gleefully.

'Oh, look at poor little Fritha. Not so clever now, are you? Now you have not Gorion to defend you.'

'Jesseth, please,' she cried, surprised his pettiness could be sustained when such things were at stake.

'_Oh please_!' he mocked, laughing spitefully as she felt her eyes grow hot, 'I always knew you were nothing but a pathetic little half-breed and when your limp corpse hangs from the city gallows everyone else will know it too!'

'That is enough, _mage_!' a voice rang out and Fritha took a moment to realise just who'd spoken. Father Whelan was stood, white with anger, his disgust for the man before him etched in every line on his face. Jesseth seemed as shocked as she was, mouthing ridiculously before he at last gathered himself enough to protest.

'Now, just you see here-'

'Get out! Now!'

For a moment, Fritha thought he would contest the priest, puffing out his chest like a petulant cockerel. But he seemed to falter slightly under Whelan's icy stare and the mage finally turned on his heel as Ulraunt had and swept silently from the room.

Whelan waited until his footsteps had faded, seemingly trying to calm himself before he turned his gaze to her.

'Fritha.'

'Please, Whelan,' she begged, tears threatening to fall in her desperation, 'please, I know we did not always see eye to eye, but I did not do this.'

'I am sorry, Fritha,' he began, his voice unusually quiet and any last hopes she had evaporated then. 'Perhaps if I had been listened to in the beginning it would not have come to this.' But he was not gloating as the mage had. His eyes were stern, sad even, as he looked at her, tears now streaming silently down her cheeks. 'Your heart is good, that I know, but your blood and bone…' He trailed off with a shake of his head and when he spoke again, it was without a trace of emotion. 'The evidence has been found and the law must be served. Helm's Mercy on you, child.'

And with that, he turned and marched out. Fritha sank to her knees with a miserable groan, the feel of Imoen's hand on her shoulder barely registering.

'Fritha, it'll be all right… you'll see.'

Fritha turned to eye the Harpers, silent all this while.

'You knew, didn't you?'

They looked to each other and Khalid turned away, suddenly sad, as his wife squared her shoulders and nodded once. 'We had our suspicions, from things your fa- Gorion said.'

'Knew? Knew what?' continued Imoen, subtle strains of panic finally creeping into her voice.

Fritha turned to look at her, the green eyes holding the first real fear she had ever seen in them and it almost felt like someone else had control of her as she heard her voice answering,

'I am a child of Bhaal. Gorion knew, they knew, Whelan, Jesseth and Ulraunt _definitely_ knew. Gods, half the bloody keep probably knew.'

Imoen stared at her, almost as though she were trying to see some sign of this heritage on her face, but after a moment the girl smiled slightly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

'Well, it doesn't change anything, does it? I mean, you've always been one, haven't you?'

Fritha shrugged. If you looked at it like that then, yes, nothing was different. But… if you looked at it another way…

Suddenly she was the by-product of what she could only imagine must have been the most horrific thing her mother had had to endure. And what were these "extenuating circumstances" that suddenly meant a fair trial was out the window? Yes, it made a lot of difference. Imoen, though, seemed to take her lack of protest as a good sign, putting an arm around her as she spoke.

'See, it'll be okay, we'll get through this together.'

'I should listen to her, child.'

Everyone seemed to start as a voice rang out from the shadows and a smoky form coalesced in front of the cell.

'Tethtoril!' cried Fritha, nearly knocking Imoen over in her haste to stand and greet Ulraunt's second; one who had always had some kind word or small wonder to show her as she was growing up. The old man smiled gently, looking her up and down with a fond, grandfatherly gaze.

'Oh, Fritha, my child, how you have grown, and in some ways no man wishes for those he holds dear. But no doubt it was necessary, eh?'

'Oh, Tethtoril, do you believe it too? Do you think I murdered them?'

'No, no, child. I had my concerns when they first told me, that perhaps the outside world had wrought such a drastic change in you, but I see now they were unfounded. You have changed, yes; a little older and little wiser, but you are still Gorion's daughter.'

Fritha watched as he laid his hand over the lock, muttering under his breath and with naught but a well-oiled click, the cell door swung silently open.

'Now, child, listen carefully, for there is not much time. Beneath Candlekeep run the archives you know so well. But, beneath those are places that only a few within these walls have been privileged to walk.'

'The Catacombs,' breathed Imoen behind her and the old mage nodded gravely.

'Indeed. I have already had your belongings placed inside the entrance and I now intend to transport you there as well. From there you can make you way out.'

'Wait!' Fritha cried, suddenly scared he would not leave her time to warn him, 'You don't understand. Candlekeep is in danger. Parda- Parda was a doppelganger!'

'Hush, child,' he soothed, laying a hand upon her shoulder, 'Parda was found safe and well in the temple hours ago. As for the body of the creature you killed, it is nowhere to be found. Perhaps removed by the same one who planted the ring of the Shadow Thieves in amongst your possessions.'

Fritha frowned. 'Koveras. But why?'

The old man shook his head gravely.

'I do not know, child, but if he did those things then it is likely that he murdered the delegates, as well.'

'Sarevok…' whispered someone behind her and she turned to see Khalid looking round at them all, realisation dawning in his eyes, 'K-Koveras is an anagram. It is b-backwards. The one who accused you, it was Sarevok.'

'When we're in the catacombs, where's the exit?' asked Imoen, her voice filled with a sudden urgency.

'I cannot say for sure, but it will bring you out on the cliffs south west of Candlekeep.'

Fritha watched the old man's face as he turned back to her, emotions threatening to overwhelm her as she stared into the tired blue eyes.

'Thank you, Tethtoril, you can't know how much this means to me. Tell Phlydia and- and Beth…' she tailed off, the lump in her throat making it painful to speak. He smiled, pulling her into a warm embrace.

'I will not have to tell them anything, child, they will know the truth as well as I do. Take care now, Fritha.'

She nodded as they parted, the old man already beginning to weave an intricate pattern in the air, a fine blue haze engulfing them and the world faded away.


	14. Return to the Gate

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– **Blackcross & Taylor**

For Anonymous, who made me smile.

**Return to The Gate**

The catacombs were hardly in focus before they were racing through the dim and dusty passages, following Imoen and trusting her sense of direction to keep their heading right. The way seemed filled with ancient traps and wards, all, more than likely, designed to prevent invasion rather than escape and they had to retrace their steps more than once, some promising path ending in a plain wall or empty room. But the thief kept them on course, and at last, the tunnel began to slope upwards and they were out, the cold damp air such a shock that Fritha found the first breath burnt her throat.

She stared about them, the beginnings of a shower speckling her face as she got her bearings; the great black ocean stretching westwards while, behind her, the walls of the Keep rose up fathomlessly into the darkness. She touched the cold stone. Had it truly been mere hours ago she'd sat in the kitchens surrounded by friends? Now she was outside, cut off from them again, exiled from her home. Someone was talking, but she couldn't make out the words.  
What did it matter? What did any of it matter? Gorion was gone, Candlekeep may well as be for all she could reach of it and… and she was a child of Bhaal… a child of Murder…

'Fritha!'

She glanced up. Jaheira was staring at her, frowning, but she could see the concern it was trying to hide.

'We need to get moving. It will not be long before our- Fritha?'

She felt herself begin to sway, shadows lurching round her as she pitched forward, catching the wall for balance as she felt her body retch. Someone was holding her, helping her to sit, their voices echoing above her.

'Is she okay?'

'Deep breaths, child, that is it.'

'Don't crowd her, girl.'

'P-perhaps we should find somewhere to camp.'

'No!' a voice cried out and she was surprised to realise it had been her own. 'No,' she continued more calmly, using the wall at her back to help her stand, 'Jaheira's right, we must keep moving. We should return to the Gate, find Sarevok. If we hurry we can reach there before news of our escape does.'

xxx

Imoen frowned, trying in vain to concentration on the trill of birdsong as they walked, rather than the hoarse wheezing of the girl before her. They had left Candlekeep two days ago, travelling long into the night on that first evening, in spite of the weather, to finally make camp a few hours before dawn. The group had rested until the following noon, Fritha waking tired and feverish, though it did not stop her driving them northward once more, and at a pace that left even the tallest of them behind.

But what had started off as a slight chill quickly grew worse, her friend's weakened state offering up little resistance to the disease. Everyone was concerned and Jaheira soon started making suggestions about moving east back to the roads to find an inn, only to be rebuffed by the girl each time, the last refused with such venom that Jaheira did not offer again. Though, Imoen noticed, her friend was never woken to take a watch, but whether or not that was the druid's doing, she could not tell. She understood the woman's frustration though; Imoen found herself able to give little comfort to her friend. The girl was beyond conversation, needing all of what meagre breath she could draw for the breakneck pace she had set for them, and there was nothing Imoen could do other than walk with her in silent company during the days, and lie next to her in the nights, watching her shake and mutter in her sleep.

Imoen shook her head, glancing through the trees to watch her friend forging ahead of them, a cloak drawn about her in spite of the day's heat. At this pace, they would easily reach the Gate within another two days. She winced as Fritha tripped slightly, her breath catching to reduce her to yet another coughing fit. That was, if they reached the place at all…

xxx

Fritha sighed, a hand absently brushing along the ears of wheat at her side as she followed the others along the edge of the field, the crops a pale gold under the dawning sun. Since they had fled Candlekeep, the last few days had just seemed to blend into one, tramping through forest after forest, avoiding the roads as they made their way northwards once more. Though, considering the state she had been in, Fritha felt thankful she had been able to travel at all. As much as she had ignored the others, especially Jaheira, Fritha realised she had been very ill; the sharp stabbing pains that ran through her lungs each time she drew breath and the tang of blood and phlegm that never quite left her mouth serving as constant reminders.

But it had hardly mattered, all things considered, and she had taken an almost savage pleasure in the weakness of her body, wallowing in the pain of yet another fit of coughing, the rasp of her breathing, the ache of her head. She had felt a stranger to herself ever since finding that letter in the warm and dusty room that had once been her own, and the feeling that even her body was rebelling against her seemed strangely comforting.

But these feelings of revulsion had eventually passed along with her illness, and that morning's dawn found the group cutting swiftly through the farmlands just south of the Gate with her as whole in both body and spirit as she had been in days. And it was as the sun was rising over distant hills that their path intersected with the old coast road and they walked the last few hours to the city, only this time, they were not alone…

The sun was barely over the horizon and already the road was full. Whole families travelling both ways along the track, each looking as though they had brought all they could manage with them; the luckier ones with carts and mounts, some just laden with all they could carry. And the way only got busier the closer to the city they drew, high sun finding them joining a queue of people that started well before the bridge to slowly make their way to a group of guards by the gate who were taking note of origins, drawing someone off every now and then for further questions.

Fritha watched the soldier nearest to them as he patrolled the head of the queue, an older man with greying temples who looked as though he had been there long before the dawn.

'Go on, keep moving. No, there's no tax, madam. Keep in line there…'

Fritha glanced to the friends next to her, all harried and road-weary and blending in surprisingly well with the others who stood about them, all jostling for position in a queue almost as wide as the bridge itself, only just enough room left for those leaving the Gate to get by. Fritha shrugged to herself, none the wiser as she turned back to him and called out.

'Hey! What's going on?'

The guard walked over to her, frowning slightly, and she gestured to the mass of people all about her, hoping to indicate she was not just complaining about their slow progress.

'Well, it the war innit,' he shrugged with a quick glance behind to check the queue in his absence before turning back to her. 'People here think they'll be safer away from the city that's bound to be a target, and people out in the villages want some big strong walls about them. Can't say I blame either side, neither.'

'_War_? Baldur's Gate's at war? With who?' came Imoen's voice behind her, though she suspected her friend knew his answer as well as she did.

'With _who_?' he exclaimed, staring from her to Fritha, his jaw slack, 'Which layer o' hell have you been in for the last tenday? With who…' he repeated, shaking his head with disbelief, 'with that nest of vipers, Amn, that's who! It all came out a few days ago. They were behind the iron shortage all along. Trying to soften us up, they were, make us weak before they struck,' He smacked his fist and palm together with a sharp snap as though to emphasise the point. 'But they didn't bank on the Iron Throne…'

'The Iron Throne…' breathed Fritha, but it wasn't a question this time.

'Aye, you've heard of them, then? I'm not much for trusting merchants, but good sorts, they are. They've been supplying the city with weapons and at cost too. Given a lot of help to the Fist here in the Gate and have even sent supplies down to garrison Beregost.'

'Beregost has been garrisoned?'

'Aye, about half a tenday ago. Here, where _have_ you been?' he questioned, his eyes suddenly narrowed and sweeping over the group behind her, 'even on the roads you still should of run into messengers; the Coast Way should have been crawling with them…'

But Fritha was hardly listening, her mind swimming with the idea that the small town she'd visited only a month ago was going to be the first in the line of attack if Amn invaded. She thought of the bright little girl who'd delivered her message to her. Would she still be there? Maybe even enjoying all the noise and bustle as the town was fortified. But, perhaps her family had moved away, somewhere safe…

'Fritha?'

She looked up again sharply, finding the older guard joined by a younger colleague, a dark bound ledger resting in the crook of his arm, long fingers stained black with ink.

'Miss? I asked you a question, now please state your point of origin.'

Fritha shook herself. 'Forgive me, we have been on the road for sometime now and we do not get much news of the Gate up in Daggerford.'

A silent looked passed between the two, the younger opening his mouth to speak again when another cut him off.

'Here, is this bloody line going to move, or what?'

He frowned, nodding to a couple of the more heavily armed soldiers that were stood by the tower behind him, all three bustling off to find this troublemaker before a riot began, and with a heavy sigh the older guard waved them past and they joined the other refugees as they filtered into the city.

Once inside the gates they moved quickly through the press, heading straight for the Elfsong. The streets were even more crowded than when they'd left, people drifting about in wary herds. Some of those arriving had nowhere else to go and were just settling in the streets, the guards fighting a losing battle as they moved on group after group. Fritha pushed open the door to the inn expecting a similar scene, and though the bar was certainly the busiest she'd ever seen it, it was not at capacity and there were rooms still available; the refugees that had flooded the city clearly unable to afford lodgings at one of the Gate's nicer taverns. They took three rooms as before and if the landlord recognised them, he did not say so, dispatching a maid to take them upstairs without comment. A moment just to dump her bag and lock her door and she and Imoen met the others in the room Khalid and Jaheira were to share, the city's new circumstances clearly needing some discussion.

'So we are all agreed,' confirmed Jaheira, slipping off her boots to pull her feet beneath her as she sat, her husband at her side on one of the two beds that had been crammed into the small room, 'it is most likely Sarevok who has taken over the Iron Throne.'

Imoen nodded, already curled up on the opposite bed with Dynaheir and Fritha, Minsc sat on the floor at their feet, his broad back resting against the door.

'Who else is there left? With Rieltar and Brunos dead, I'm betting Thaldorn didn't last much longer.'

'But to murder thine own father, just for control of a guild,' Dynaheir sighed, looking weary, 'it doth not make sense.'

'Minsc has seen men do most terrible things for power; it corrupts!'

Much nodding followed this but Fritha held off; they were missing something here, something greater than mere guild politics.

'No, she's right, it doesn't make sense…' she began slowly, unsure of where she was really heading, 'He killed his father for power over the guild, over the Gate, fine. But you heard the guard, he's selling the weapons at cost… why?'

'Perhaps he d-does not wish to see the Gate invaded.'

Fritha shook her head with a frown. 'Baldur's Gate is the richest city in the Western Heartlands, they could afford double the current market price for iron… He's gone to all this trouble to take over a guild and now he's not interested in making money. What's more, he's practically giving away the substance that has given his guild the power they sought.'

Jaheira snorted, a frown furrowing her brow.

'I would say he is trying to put right the sins of his father, except we all saw his true colours back at Candlekeep.'

'Maybe he just wants to play the hero,' offered Imoen with a casual shrug, 'the iron crisis couldn't last forever anyway; he sells it off at cost now and when the war and the shortage are over he looks like the city's saviour; that can't be bad for business, whatever you deal in.' 

Talk of these different theories and their plans took them late into the afternoon and on into the evening, the group eating the last of their supplies there together rather then risking a prolonged visit to the common room. It was late now; the real talk had filtered off hours ago, but none seemed willing to break company yet, even though Khalid was already asleep and Imoen was curled up with her head on Dynaheir's knee 'just resting her eyes.' Fritha was tired too, her raging thirst the only thing keeping her from joining Imoen. The room, small as it was, was stuffy and close with them all sat within and their water had dried up at dinner. So finally she dragged herself awake and, as much for her own sake as anyone else's, volunteered to go to the bar before they all retired for the night.

Downstairs was little better though, the crowd of people making the usually airy room close and humid, and she suspected that the majority of those still down there at that hour did not have a bed to get to. She moved across to the bar, unnoticed in the throng of waiting patrons, ordering her drinks and handing over a few water flasks for refilling, and was waiting patiently for the maid's return when a hand caught her sleeve in the press. She tensed, glancing up to see a half-elven youth of her own age stood next to her; his sharp profile softened by the brown curls that rippled in an untidy mop about his head, dark eyes trained on the bottles that covered the back of the bar.

'I would speak with you, lady,' he muttered, lips barely moving, 'will you come and listen?'

She stared ahead as well, wanting nothing more than to collect their drinks and fall into bed, but at last, she sighed and nodded once, leaning over the bar to shout to the maid, 'I'll just be a moment, miss, I've left my purse in my room.'

The girl nodded absently, her eyes never leaving the pint she was trying to coax from the sputtering tap and Fritha followed him through the press into the back alcove. She was surprised at first that he had managed to keep a table in his absence, until the heat hit her, the dying embers of the snug turning the smaller room into an oven and keeping all but the most hardy of patrons at bay. Only a few candles had been spared in there, lighting the air above to throw long shadows over the people that sat about them, hunched low over their drinks. She followed him to his table, allowing him to draw a chair out for her and sitting down as he took the bench next to her.

He smiled, seemingly satisfied with how things had progressed so far, his eyes dark and earnest.

'Good then. I am Delthyr. I represent those who Harp and I have been seeking you for days now.'

Fritha smiled wanly, dropping her eyes to the two pale hands that rested on the table before her, overly white in the gloom.

'You are one among many, and of a number set only to grow, I fear.'

'True, lady,' he continued, 'but I search for different reason. Much has changed in the city since your departure and I am charged to tell you of it.'

'You seem young; why have they entrusted such a task to you?'

'I am as old as you!' he exclaimed passionately and she smiled in spite of herself, his likeness to Imoen in that moment warming.

'Indeed, and I doubt any would trust _me_ with what they have, had they any choice in the matter.'

She smiled gently, and he slowly returned it, looking slightly abashed as he continued.

'Such is the level of suspicion in the Gate now, most of the Harpers fear they may be watched. I am not known within this city, hailing from Waterdeep, as I do, and they leave this task to me. Will you listen, my lady?'

She nodded for him to continue and he leaned in slightly, a few stray curls falling forward across his brow.

'Scar, the second in command of the Flaming Fist has been assassinated.'

Fritha closed her eyes, her tiredness suddenly threatening to overwhelm her; if she _ever _got hold of Sarevok…

'You knew him?' came his voice again and she finally opened her eyes, shrugging loosely.

'We were acquainted. He seemed a good man.'

Delthyr looked pained a moment, pressing his lips together before venturing to speak again.

'I- I am sorry, lady, my news does not get any better. Grand Duke Eltan has come down with some mysterious aliment. No one knows how long he has to live. Also,' he continued slowly, glancing quickly to her face before dropping his gaze to the table, 'news has reached us here of your recent crimes in Candlekeep. Everyone believes you are agents from Amn and your persecution of the Iron Throne, stems therein. Sarevok, their new leader, has placed a price on your head and the Flaming Fist has a warrant for your arrest. Before I continued, tell me, lady, are you guilty?'

She shook her head, eyes downcast, feeling the weight of the world pressing heavily on her. 'No, I am not.'

He smiled warmly, all at once earnest again as he continued.

'I am relieved. You may know better than I what your own course of action should be in this matter, but I am here should you have any questions. But, pray lady, ask them now, for I leave with this night's tide.'

'Do they know who killed Scar?'

He shrugged slightly. 'From evidence found where he was murdered, it would seem the Shadow Thieves.'

'The Amnish influence again, how very convenient. How have things been in his absence?'

'His replacement, Captain Angelo, seems very… efficient. It is he who placed a checkpoint on the gate, and has increased the city patrols threefold. He…' Delthyr trailed off, something obviously bothering him, but as though he were unable to quite describe what it was and at last he sighed defeatedly. 'We have our suspicions, lady, but no more than that.'

'You do not trust him?'

'Some of the Harpers believe it is he who is trying to keep track of their movements, but, as I said, there is no proof.'

Fritha nodded absently to herself as she continued. 'And what of the sickness Eltan has come down with?'

'So far, Eltan's healer has been unable to discover what has been ailing him. It must be magical in nature; from what I know, Eltan's healer, Rashad, is priest of no mean faith and power. It is unusual that he has been unable to affect a cure for the Grand Duke. So… do you have any other questions, lady?'

She shook her head, glancing back through to the bar where she could see a now full tray waiting for her.

'No… my thanks, you have given me much to think on.'

He nodded, rising as she did to swing a cloak about his shoulders and bow slightly, hesitating a moment before scooping up her hand to plant a light kiss upon the back.

'Tymora keep you, lady.'

A flash of a smile, a sweep of his cloak, and he was gone, leaving her to stare at her hand, the knuckles white in the gloom.

She took their order and this news to the rest of them with laden steps, and their talks commenced again in earnest -after a lengthy group-wide reprimand for going off alone with a stranger had been administered, of course. Fritha said little herself, waiting another hour or so to listen to them talk before crawling off to her own bed, Imoen joining her.

The girl had been like her shadow ever since they'd left Candlekeep, though whether the revelations there or her subsequent illness had brought about this change she could not tell. Fritha had been angry at first, resenting it as another thing she no longer felt she should be part of. But it did not last long and above all things, it had been the blossom of their friendship that had sustained her through those dark few days. Even now she was better, Imoen was no less attentive. Fritha had been sure their return to the city would have sparked anew her interest in the thieves' guild. But Niklos remained significant only in his absence and the girl did not even mention him when Fritha later described Delthyr to her, though she did do a healthy amount of teasing about how Fritha had _apparently _managed to catch herself Harper. And so, they finally settled down for sleep, the window closed against the rumble of the city; hot and restless under a clouded sky.

xxx

The morning found Fritha tired and uneasy; her dreams haunted by men with eyes darker than the void and voices that whispered just beyond her hearing of blood and destiny. But by the look of the others, she was not alone in this as they gathered again in the Harpers' room, the temple bells signalling mid-morning across the city. It had been agreed last night that they would return to the Iron Throne in daylight; the watch more like to stop any groups who moved about the city after dark and they could use the crowded streets as cover. Khalid threw a wan smile to his wife as she ushered the girls down the stairs before her and out into the sun-baked street. Who knew what would await them at the guild this time? Sarevok was clearly a youth of some power, that he could so easily conquer the greatest threat the Sword Coast had seen in years, and from the inside as well.

It was a worry though, that would prove to be premature…

'Right' shouted Jaheira over the noise of the people moving about them, 'everyone stay-'

'Stand where you're at and make not one move!'

Khalid whirled to the voice, a squad of guards suddenly appearing in the crowds to surround them, swords drawn, their blond captain approaching at a more leisurely pace, smiling broadly as people hurried to get out of his path.

'What's going on?' demanded Fritha, stepping up to meet him, all front and indignation, 'Why do you detain us?'

'Come now,' continued the captain with a genial chuckle that left Khalid cold, gesturing to the two nearest guards who immediately stepped in to seize her arms. 'Let's not bother with any pretence; I know who you are and I know what you've done.'

The girl's eyes narrowed. 'Who are you?'

'Captain Ellic Angelo, commander of the Flaming Fist, and you are Fritha; traitor, murderer and spy. I was informed some days ago of your escape from Candlekeep. I was told you would likely return here, though I must say I am surprised, considering it is where you were due to be hung anyway.'

A guard at his side grunted in agreement. 'Aye, but he's a nose for such things, that Sarev-'

'Silence!' Angelo snapped looking livid and Jaheira threw him a disdainful look.

'So you are in his pocket then? You'll forgive me for not being surprised.'

'Watch your tongue druid, or you'll loose it! You wouldn't be the first Harper I've seen on the wrong end of a blade today…'

That caught all their attention though Angelo focused only on Fritha, stepping up to meet the girl toe to toe, his voice smooth and measured.

'Yes…the boy, Delthyr,' he continued, smiling at the horror plain on her face, 'he put up quite a struggle when we caught him. And took his secret to the grave too. If it hadn't been for a couple of refugees who recognised you from Beregost, we may not have found you before it was too late.'

'Dead… he's dead…' Fritha whispered and her whole body seemed to slump in the guards' grasp, so suddenly pale that Khalid feared she would faint. 'You…' the girl breathed her voice catching and Angelo grinned, broad and slow. Suddenly, a guttural cry and she was upon him, the guards trying to pull her off as she punched and tore at anything within reach, screaming all the while.

'You! I'll see you hang, you bastard! Do you hear? I'll see you hang!'

Chaos erupted about them, her distraction allowing Minsc to throw off his guards, drawing his sword to scatter the rest. A crackle of magic tore through the air to floor the men at his back, Imoen's arrows peppering them as they tried to regroup and Khalid drew his own sword, killing an advancing solider with one blow before turning back to Fritha. The captain had finally thrown her off, but not before four bloody lines had been clawed across his face. The girl stood before him now, panting, slowly drawing her sword and Khalid had never seen her more intent on murder.

'Fritha!'

She did not hear him, or perhaps she did not care to, advancing on the captain with a slow and measured pace, eyes never leaving him as she brought her sword up into a hanging guard.

'Fritha!' he shouted again as their duel began, Khalid knocking back another two soldiers, his wife appearing to engage a third. Dynaheir and Imoen had already retreated around the back of the Elfsong, heading for the city gates, Minsc not far behind them, the head start the chaos had bought them slowly ebbing away as the guards regrouped. Another few moments and they would be surrounded.

'Fritha!'

'By Silvanus, that gir- AH!'

Jaheira's scream seemed to go straight through him, so he did not so much hear as feel it and Khalid turned in time to block the blow meant to finish her, sweeping up his own blade into the mercenary's face. But the man's cry was not the only one to fill the air and he glanced back to see Fritha finally racing toward him, eyes trained on the woman in his arms, the fuss of soldiers around the bloody form of Angelo as they tried to help their captain to stand, buying them some time.

'Minsc!' she roared as soon as she was close enough, her back to them as she watched the guards with a drawn sword, the ranger appearing but a moment later.

'Take her,' Fritha ordered, Minsc stooping to gently scoop Jaheira's body in to his arms and they were off, tearing round the inn to join Imoen and the mage, all heading for the gates.

Fritha swore, pushing roughly through a group of travellers as she ran, the crowds hindering both hunters and pursued as she followed the others across the square and into an alley just before the gate, half hidden by a stack of waiting crates. The alley was dark and cool and in the gloom she could just make out the shape of Khalid and the mage stooped over Jaheira, the others gathered behind them, anxious.

'How is she?'

Dynaheir glanced back at her voice and shrugged delicately.

'We have stopped the bleeding and bandaged the wound, but she remains unconscious.'

'She has lost a lot of blood,' added Khalid, his voice quiet and Fritha felt her stomach clench, turning from him to look back out into the square as a cart pulled up at the mouth. For a moment, all she could was stare as the short balding man of middle years jumped down to pick up the nearest crate before she realised herself and began to back into the shadows. It was too late though and as he turned he noticed her, his eyes flicking to the blooded sword in her hand.

'What are you doing?'

Fritha said nothing, unable to suppress a flinch as a solider across the square shouted and she watched realisation dawn in his eyes as Imoen appeared at her shoulder.

'Hey… aren't you those mercs from Nashkel? You're the ones who they're looking for. Bloodied up their captain…'

Fritha swallowed, her grip tightening on her hilt as the compulsion to kill him before he could give them up welled inside her.

'Please, we haven't done anything wrong,' cried Imoen, sounding tearful in the escalating air of despair, 'Our friend is hurt…'

His eyes drifted from her to Imoen and to the body that lay silent in the alley, as guards gathered in the square behind them.

'I've a cousin in Nashkel,' he began slowly, as though thinking aloud, 'you lot really helped him out, saving the mine and all… and I don't suppose I care much for what you may have done in the meantime… Here, lay her in, ' he suddenly ordered, all urgency as he pulled back the canvas that covered the cart and heaved out a grain sack to make more room.

'Go on, in you get,' he repeated, to the stunned faces that surrounded him before everyone was suddenly moving at once, Khalid and Dynaheir climbing up to receive Jaheira's body from Minsc, Fritha and Imoen scrambling up after them as the driver collared the ranger, pushing an old cloak into his arms. 'You, put that on and sit up front with me, it does to have a bit of muscle in situations like this.'

The man threw the tarp back over them all, cramped and low amongst the sacks with the druid laid out between them. Fritha felt the cart jolt as Minsc and the driver climbed aboard as well, a gentle snap of the reins and they were off, rattling over the cobbles, the sound gaining an echo as they passed under the arch of the gate.

'Hold there, sir. State your destination.'

The cart stopped beneath them and Fritha felt her grip on her hilt tighten, fingers digging to the opposite palm as she watched the faces of those around her tense.

'Joining a caravan just north of here, then up to Waterdeep,' came the man's genial reply.

'And your friend here?'

Fritha felt her heart stop. Minsc.

'A merc I hired for the journey. Don't talk much common, but you can't be too careful on the roads nowadays, what with times being as they are.'

Silence followed and Fritha held her breath, sweat stinging her eyes, her grip on her sword almost painful, when the slightest of jolts and they were moving again the hollow rumble as they clattered over the bridge filling her ears.

'Right,' came the driver's voice at last, 'we should be more than clear now.'

The tarp was thrown back, everyone straightening as cool fresh air swept in and Fritha found them just west of the bridge, skirting the forest as they travelled north. At her feet, Jaheira sighed but did not awaken and Fritha watched as Khalid shifted to settle next to her, tenderly brushing a few stray hairs from her brow.

'Oh, Khalid, I am so sorry, if I hadn't-'

'Now, n-now, none of that,' he cut her off, smiling as warmly as he was able, 'if you hadn't s-started that fight we would be in the prisons by now and things would look much worse.' The man adding gently in the silence that followed this, 'Come now, J-Jaheira would agree with me.'

Fritha tried to reply, but the lump in her throat made it painful to speak and in the end she just nodded once, dropping her gaze to her hands, a tuff of blond hair still clinging to the dried blood where she'd attacked the captain and she felt suddenly sick. What was happening to her? She closed her eyes pulling her attention forcibly away from it all as she turned to call up to the driver.

'So where _are _you headed?'

He glanced back at her voice to find her looking up at him and smiled.

'Going to stay with my sister in Ulgoth's Beard. Out of the way sort of place.' He grinned, turning back to the road ahead of him to give the reins a gentle flick, 'I think you lot'll fit right in.'

xxx

They had travelled through the night and dawn found the cart clattering gently through the hills far north of Baldur's Gate. The others were dozing fitfully about her, only Minsc, herself and the driver still awake to see the sky slowly colour from a pale oyster to a pink so deep and vivid it seemed unnatural, the moon still visible in the eastern sky, a company of fading stars about it. Fritha stared southwards, back the way they had come, the city just a glittering speck nestled like a jewel in the verdant plains. But she could take no joy in any of it; all the dawn held for her was a chill she could not shake.

She pulled her cloak about her more tightly. They had all taken her aside over these last few days to give her words of assurance, tell her that her newly discovered heritage meant nothing to them. But kind though the gestures had been, it was more what _she_ thought of it that was causing her trouble at the moment. She felt as a stranger to herself; her temper, once so mild and even, now seemed to flare with a speed that was frightening. She had already seen the results of one such incident; her anger, so all-consuming, had blinded her to everything but her own bloodlust and had nearly cost them dearly.

Fritha glanced down to the woman laid out at her feet, her sleep restless and broken. If anything had happened to her…

She sank her head into her hands, the fear and futility of her situation making it suddenly hard to breathe. She was a child of Bhaal, yes, but what did that mean? Was she in effect Murder's hand, unable to help but work its will upon the earth?

Was that why everyone she met ended up…?

_'No!'_ she felt her mind snap angrily. She had always been herself, but there had not always been deaths, at least not through any fault of hers. It was only since she'd gone out into the world that the killing had begun and in each time, she had been just as likely a victim as the slain. If anything, she was just lucky.

_But then there was your mother… _

Fritha tightened the grip on her cloak, ignoring the dull ache of her fingers. The idea that her mother had been a less than willing participant in her conception had been troubling her for sometime, but it was nothing when compared to the realisation that in giving birth to the by-product of her assault, the woman had died… that she had, in effect, caused her death…

Fritha forced her mind away from such thoughts, knowing they did nothing save frighten her and had returned her attention to the sky when a hand caught her shoulder and she turned to see Minsc smiling down at her.

'I think we are arrived, young Fritha.'

She looked past him, a ramshackle fence lining one side of the track as small grey buildings rose slowly from the horizon as though growing there.

Moments later and they were all awake and pulling up outside the inn, their driver pointing out the local temple, Imoen tearing off for a cleric as soon as her feet touched the ground. Fritha thanked the man sincerely, her offers to travel the last few miles with him and help him unload, genially refused as Minsc and Khalid carried Jaheira into the tavern. The others lingered in the bar, Khalid disappearing with the priest as soon as she arrived. But Fritha could not relax nor bear their company and paced outside alone in the morning chill; so worried for Jaheira but unwilling go to her bedside, to watch over her with her husband when it was her fault she was in need of a priest in the first place.

The moments ticked by, tortuously slow, and it seemed hours later when Imoen finally brought her news with her tea that Jaheira was fine and apparently sat up in bed and talking Khalid's ear off about where they had ended up without her 'guiding hand'. Fritha smiled at the news and though, in her shame, she wanted nothing more than to run away and never have to see the druid again, she went immediately to her. Once inside her room, crossing swiftly and kneeling beside the bed to so humbly beg her pardon that the woman seemed quite touched, gruffly telling her to 'get up and desist with her foolishness' while the man at her side beamed, his eyes unusually bright.

They stayed there until noon the next day, just relaxing and enjoying the each other's company. The tiny village seemed like another world, away from the trouble and disorder that infused the rest of the Sword Coast. Though small, there was an inn, temple and small docks, and it was in exploration of these that Fritha and Imoen met Mendas, a scholar from the Northern city of Waterdeep. He told them of the explorer, Balduran and the final voyage from which he did not return, explaining that he had discovered a wreck matching the old adventurer's description and was looking to hire a group as salvage crew. The round trip was estimated as just under a fortnight, with a day or so for salvaging and the girls took news of it to the others, who could only agree that it was a perfect way of avoiding any searches for them whilst earning some much-needed coin. Staying days in the city investigating the Iron Throne had not been cheap, and by noon of the second day, Fritha was stood in the stern of an old schooner, a brisk wind roaring in her ears as she watched the mainland fade on the horizon.

xxx

Fritha wiped a sleeve across her forehead, her tunic clinging to her unpleasantly as all about her, both companions and crew sprawled on the sun-baked deck, as languid and listless as their ship. The first few days had seen them sailing steadily northwest, the sails full and billowing before the wind. The blustery weather seemed to hearten her somehow and she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her, the crew showing her and Imoen how to set sails and splice rope, happy to explain anything they showed an interest in.

The whole group seemed lighter too, even Dynaheir, who had started to feel ill before they'd even left the harbour and had spent the whole first day at sea being sick. But not even Jaheira could keep up her grudge in the face of such nausea, brewing a concoction to help calm her stomach and, though not entirely well, the Wychlaran made no further complaint and could be found both day and night, sat just beneath the main mast where a tarp had been slung above to lend her some shade, Minsc never far from her side.

But on the fifth day the wind had lessened, and the sixth found nothing more than a fitful breeze to stir the canvas, the captain ordering them to drop anchor to prevent them drifting off course and they had not moved a yard since. No one seemed to mind at first, the sailors assuring them that the winds were a fickle mistress and would not stay at rest for long, taking the opportunity to make repairs and relax. In fact, the only trial Fritha found herself facing was that in the quiet, one of the crew had noticed the lute strapped to the back of her pack and she had been bombarded with requests to play ever since, their appeals only becoming more frequent when they realised how embarrassed it made her. It only stopped when Khalid stepped in, claiming the girl had left her master in the Gate and was not allowed to play without his supervision until she had achieved the rank of at least journeyman.

But as the days wore on and rations dwindled, tensions in the ship rose. It was as though someone had died. No one seemed to speak above a whisper and only then it was of dark elven magic and the curses of Umberlee.

Fritha sighed; something that seemed much louder than usual in the silence that hung about them, the occasional creak of timbers and the gentle lapping of the water the only other things to break the stillness. She glanced to Imoen who was sat with Khalid under the shade of a sail. Her friend had not been so careful to begin with, and her face and arms were still pink from where she'd caught the sun. Jaheira, on the other hand, was now the same colour as her hair, her skin easily darkening to a healthy tan. Fritha glanced down to the pale arm that rested in her lap. She had neither burnt nor browned; something she had thought nothing of, until one of the sailors commented on it and she had made a show of keeping to the shade from then on, unwilling to disturb the already wary crew.

She dropped her head again, the humidity making her tired and dull, watching absently as a stray curl was lifted by the warm breeze… A breeze?

'Ahoy, storm off the port!'

The sudden shout above her made Fritha jump, eyes flying first to the crow's nest and then out to the horizon where dark clouds were gathering. She sprang to her feet, reaching the rail in one stride and leaning over in an effort to get a better view, the ship beginning to roll beneath her as the first of the waves began. The wind was picking up now, great drops of rail beginning to spatter the deck, the crew whooping and shouting about her as they rushed to set the sails, the captain's gaze still on the storm.

'Set course, helmsman, three points off north by northwest; we'll try to skirt the edge.'

'Aye, sir. North by northwest.'

Fritha watched as the dark boiling mass grew closer, her dreams of endless oceans and struggling bodies suddenly at the fore of her mind. The ship had seemed so solid, so real, she had never actually thought about where they were. Miles from land, the water falling away beneath them, the bottom so deep not even light could reach it. Imagine being down there, things brushing against you in the darkness, unable to see or even cry out as you slowly ran out of air…

'Fritha!'

She started to find herself shaking, whirling to the voice. Jaheira was stood in the main hatch, a pale Dynaheir on her arm as she helped the mage climb below.

'Come on, girl. The captain wants us out of the way.'

It took all her will not to scream 'no', to tell her she would not see this boat as her coffin. The druid must have seen her hesitation though, her face softening and Fritha expected some trite assurance when the woman in her arms retched, a shriek and deep curse from beneath them signalling just who had been standing by to help. Jaheira turned to glare at her, as though it had been her fault and Fritha meekly crossed the deck to follow them below.

The hold was full, anyone of the crew who was not deemed essential being sent below decks. They found room as a group in amongst some crates, all laying down cloaks to make a bed for the Wychlaran; some, she noticed, more hesitantly than others. Hours passed. Fritha glanced about her watching the sailors for any sign, good or bad, as the ship rolled and groaned. It was amazing how such situations brought out the faith in people, not one among them without some pendant or holy mark, the mumble of prayers filling the air, incense mixing unpleasantly with the smell of vomit.

Fritha couldn't really see the point of it, as she watched the man closest to her, the rhythmic click of his prayer beads his only sound. Surely if the gods were that bothered about them, they wouldn't have found themselves here in the first place. Even those about her seemed to have succumbed; Imoen, her eyes closed and muttering quietly under her breath while Jaheira knelt, openly praying to Silvanus to deliver them from Nature's wrath. Fritha turned away, feeling helpless and empty, part of her wishing she had their faith. But the only temple she'd ever attended was Oghma's, and even then, very long ago and under much duress. The only holy ground she'd set foot on recently was Gond's and she thought it was more likely that Helm would turn up to rescue her personally, than she would get any assistance from the God of Makers. The idea of it seemed suddenly funny and she had to bite her lip to stop from laughing, hysterical giggles bubbling up inside her as the ship made a particularly violently lurch and the prayers about her became more fervent.

'All hands to the tops!' roared a voice somewhere above them and her laughter died that instant, the dark looks between the crew causing panic to take its place as the men rose to quickly file towards the steps, Fritha kneeling up to catch a sleeve as they passed.

'Please, what's happening?'

'We've been called to take the sails in, love. We've sailed too close and the storm has caught us.' The man turned away as the steps emptied before him, his voice almost lost in the roar of the gale as he ascended on to deck.

'A grave mistake and one we may pay dearly for.'

Fritha returned to her place, panic ebbing away to an almost numb resignation. Moments passed, the crew milling in and out, all soaked through and pale, not even the murmur of prayers breaking the stillness now, the hold deathly silent bar the howling of the storm as the ship heaved and lurched. She could not say later how long she had sat there; time itself had seemed to lose all meaning and if someone had later told her it was days, she would not have been surprised. Perhaps she even fell asleep, she could not be sure, only that the next thing she recalled was a jolt so strong it knocked her sideways, the scream of splintering wood and a voice somewhere bellow,

'All hands to the bilge!'

The hold emptied instantly, Fritha scrambling up with them, struggling to keep her balance on the listing decking, when a hand caught her and she whirled back to find Khalid holding her arm, quietly resolved.

'The captain told us to stay below,' he reminded gently, but a determination had filled her too and with a strength that surprised them both Fritha pulled it from his grasp, flying up the steps and out into the storm.

The deck was in darkness, waves crashing over the side and Fritha felt almost weightless as that first gust of wind caught her, feet slipping from under her on the soaking deck.

'Steady there, flower,' came a gruff voice at her ear, as two arms managed to catch her before she fell, setting her back on her feet and she turned to see one of the men who had once so ardently pestered her for a song, his shaved head shining in the gloom.

'Please, what's going on?' she cried, struggling to hear herself above the gale.

'We've hit a reef,' he answered, shaking his head as another wave swept over the listing deck, the icy water taking her breath away. 'The ship was in the trough of a wave when it caught our hull; cracked it like a nut. The captain's got men trying to mend the breach, everyone else is down there bailing. Don't worry,' he grinned at the fear that obviously lit her face, 'we'll get through this ye-'

His voice was lost as the ship lurched again, and for a moment the deck was almost vertical as another wave crashed over the side, the jolt as the ship smashed once more into the reef sending her sprawling. Somewhere below her men were screaming and she scrambled to her feet, whirling to find her friend in the chaos; he was gone.

'We're taking in water!' a voice below her screamed just as one above roared,

'Land, hoy!'

She turned to find lights bobbing along the horizon, blinking as the ship rolled beneath her. The waiting was over now; what she had been dreading had happened and for some reason her fear had gone. Fritha raced along the deck, feet slipping in her haste, to drop lightly down the cabin hatch, the steps rendered useless by the listing of the ship. Her friends looked up as she appeared.

'Fritha-'

'Get on deck!' she snapped, barely sparing them a glance as she grabbed her bag.

'Fritha, now what is-' continued Jaheira, the woman's composure in the ensuing panic causing her temper to flare.

'The ship is sinking! Get on deck!' Fritha shouted, hauling Imoen to her feet with an unfortunate handful of tunic and hair that made the girl shriek, before shoving her towards the listing steps, the rest of them already scrambling to get up.

Imoen's feet were disappearing through the hatch as Fritha reached the ladder, her friend stretching an arm back in to help her climb. The deck seemed deserted, water creeping slowly up it as the ship sank and together the girls leaned in to help Dynaheir out, the mage quickly followed by the others.

'There, do you see?' Fritha shouted, pointing out to the lights that hung in the darkness, 'We can swim for them.'

Jaheira nodded, turning to face the group.

'She is right. Get rid of anything heavy. Imoen try to find us some rope; it would be best if we weren't separated.'

Her friend nodded, disappearing into the gloom as sure of foot there as anywhere and Fritha turned back to find the men rooting their packs, throwing out armour and provisions, a reluctance to their haste, while Jaheira helped the Wychlaran to unlace her heavy robes. Fritha stooped over her own bag; the only thing she owned that weighed anything was her chainmail and she was in no hurry to keep that fetid hunk of metal, unceremoniously dumping it over the side without a regret.

'Hey, I've found some,' came a cry behind her and Fritha turned to see Imoen emerge from the gloom, a coil of rope over one arm. 'Here, take an end and tie-'

But the girl's orders were lost as another huge wave swept over the deck. Time seemed to slow, and she watched as Imoen turned to her, frightened, with arms outstretched. For a moment she thought Imoen was reaching out for help when Fritha felt the weight of water catch her and she almost laughed as it became clear just _who_ was in danger. A voice screamed her name and then all was silent, the only sound the tattoo of a heartbeat in her eardrums. Fritha struggled, the world reduced to a shimmering darkness before she finally broke the surface to draw a great gulping breath.

'Imoen?' she cried, trying to see her friends the chaos of wood and cloth that floated about her. She reached out, managing to grab a piece of the broken mast as it floated past, entwining a hand in the rigging that drifted with it, almost unseen in the dark water.

'Jaheira?' she shouted again, another wave sweeping over her, engulfing her face. She choked, crying out, her arms burning with the effort of keeping her head above water as she clung to the spar.

The lights were still bobbing in the distance, but they seemed so much further away here than they had on the ship…

'Imoen?' she screamed, her fear and frustration mixing to leave her angry, 'Jaheira? Kha-?'

The cry was lost as water swamped her again, her arms screaming as the wood finally slipped from her grasp and she could feel herself smiling as the water enveloped her. All they had been through. All who had pursued them, and it would end like this.


	15. Shipwrecked

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Shipwrecked **

Fritha laid still, a comforting heat on her back as the gentle sound of the waves returned her to consciousness. For a moment, it was almost as though she was back at Candlekeep, listening to the sea that crashed and swelled about the cliffs of her home. But memories of a shipwreck slowly began to filter back and the feelings were lost to her once more.

She groaned and immediately winced, her whole body on edge as sand crunched between her teeth. Lifting her head from the ground with some difficultly, she found herself on a pale sandy beach, grassy dunes stretching off to the north of her, while the mid-morning sun beat fiercely overhead. Imoen's body lay a little way off, the gentle rise and fall of her back allaying her immediate concerns, though the absence of the others was a worry.  
What if they…?

She shook herself, pulling her mind away and easing herself up to untangle the knot of rigging that was still caught about her arms, her wrist burnt where she had entwined her hand. Slowly she sat up, freeing herself from her bag strap that had been twisted round her by the rushing waters, and finally pulling out her flask. She swilled out her mouth, spitting the gritty water onto the beach beside her and taking a long draft before passing it to Imoen, who had crawled a little way along the beach to sit next to her.

'You okay?' she asked, the girl just nodding, spilling water down her chin as she gulped thirstily. Fritha sighed, reaching up to re-pin her hair more securely, curls brittle beneath her fingers, before receiving the flask back from Imoen who had now turned her attention to her equipment.  
'Looks like everything in my bag's still there, but the dagger's gone from my boot and I think I've lost the pendant you bought me,' she sighed, patting her chest trying to feel it under her tunic before a smile lit her features. 'Oh no,' she continued, struggling to adjust the cord without strangling herself, 'it just got pulled around. What about you?'  
Fritha shrugged, hefting her bag onto her lap to root through it.  
'Mine seems fine too, though my books will need drying out, but apart from that-'  
'Your lute's gone!'  
'What?' she cried, pulling the bag round to find the strapping that usually bound it there, empty and slack.  
'Oh,' she said shortly, with a slight shrug, more disappointed than she thought she would have been at its loss, 'oh well.'  
'Ho there!'

They both looked up to see further down the beach four familiar figures ambling toward them.  
'Hey!' Imoen shouted back, standing to wave enthusiastically.  
'It's good we are all here, I was worried,' continued Fritha absently, more to herself than the energetic girl stood next to her, taking another drink in an effort to quell the churning of saltwater in her stomach.  
'How are you both?' called Jaheira as they neared, Imoen sitting back down as she answered.  
'The better for seeing you lot.'  
'Yes, w-we were worried too when we c-could not find you,' said Khalid, smiling slightly as he added,' though Boo was sure you had not come to h-harm.'  
Minsc beamed.

'But we are all here now, and what is m-more…'Khalid continued with a smile, pulling aside his cloak to reveal a sandy and slightly scratched lute.  
'You found it!' Fritha cried, kneeling up to receive it as the others sat down about them.  
'Actually, it was J-Jaheira who saw it, still bobbing about in the water.'  
'It was you who went and retrieved it,' countered the druid sharply, clearly wanting no credit for its return being landed on her.  
'Well, either way, I expect to hear a t-tune on it when we g-get back to the mainland.'  
Everyone laughed as she felt herself colour, though she promised him she'd think about it.

'Well,' continued Jaheira, once the laughter had died down, 'to those ends, we should set about exploring this island without delay. I wish to be much more familiar of our surroundings when night falls. Do you still have the sea charts, Fritha?'  
She was about to reply when, a young girl suddenly crashed through the tall grass behind them. No one spoke as she surveyed them all with wide grey eyes, her mouth a perfect circle, before she seemed to remember herself and quickly curtseyed, blond plaits bobbing as she did so.

'Hello. I'm Solianna.'  
Fritha smiled warmly, bowing slightly from where she sat.  
'Nice to meet you, Solianna, they call me Fritha.'  
Silence fell again as she watched them warily a moment longer, head cocked to one side as she sniffed the air.  
'You smell funny. You swim in?'  
Fritha shrugged, grinning wryly.  
'Pretty much. Our ship sank.'  
The girl giggled slightly, clearly no longer believing them a threat and sitting down on the crest of the dune.

'You're lucky,' she continued wisely, primly smoothing out her apron, 'not see many that swim in. Fishes are mean and cliffs hurt ship-homes. You still smell funny but maybe you stay and belong?'  
'And b-belong? Belong to whom?'  
'Why, to each other, silly,' she laughed brightly, 'there's mommay and poppay and my brother. We've got neighbours too. The village is very nice.'  
Imoen glanced to her, eyebrows raised before turning back to the child to ask,  
'How d'you come to be here?'  
'Mommay says great-great-grandmommay came here on a ship-home like you. Something happened and they had to swim or be caught by the fishes. The ship-home is here somewhere, I guess. We're not allowed to go there.'  
'Thou dost not seem alarmed to see us. How often do strangers come here?'  
Solianna shrugged.

'Not very often and they don't always want to make friends. That's what mommay says. But I never seen any that doesn't belong, until I meet you anyway. You may smell funny but you not scary. Not like the beasties.'  
'The beasties?' Fritha repeated quickly, 'what do you mean?  
'The beasties are scary,' the girl breathed, her grip on her apron tightening as she leant forward. 'They sometimes look like us but they change and get mean. Mommay says they're nothing more than animals, but the other animals don't hate us so much. Maybe...maybe you will help us?'  
Fritha nodded once, smiling slightly.  
'If we can.'  
Solianna smiled too, seemingly heartened by her answer, pointing behind her as she spoke.  
'Yeah, you go to the village and speak to mommay's friend, Kaishas. She leads while master chieftain is away. I got to go now, but maybe we see each other later- or maybe I too busy playing,' she added with a cheeky grin, turning to run in the direction she had pointed. 'Bye!'

Imoen turned to her, a familiar smile already hitched into place.  
'So we're going to the village then?'  
Fritha grinned.  
'Looks like.'

xxx

It turned out the village could be seen from the top of the dune, a sparse grouping of buildings, crop fields and a square situated to the east and a high wall bordering the entire northern boundary. Fritha followed her friends down from the dunes, the sand shifting under her feet, before the ground became more solid and Jaheira led the way eastwards to the square.

Fritha readjusted her bag, her arms still sore from her struggle the night before. The village seemed quiet, even taking into account the small number of buildings and those she did notice did not seem as pleased to see them as the girl had been, watching them pass with shaded eyes. They had reached the square by now, the packed earth sending up clouds of dust with each step. Jaheira stopped, glancing up at the three large buildings that bordered it, all raised to head height on wooden stilts, when a voice called out behind them.  
'Hello to you that do not belong!'

Fritha turned to see a lean tan woman, her blonde hair cropped short, appear at the mouth of the northern most building. She watched them a moment before walking cautiously down the first few steps to stand, still a head higher than them as she continued.  
'I greet ye and ask your purpose to be here. Please assure my worry you are not here to harm.'  
Jaheira stepped forward.  
'We were washed ashore when our ship foundered, we mean no ill.'  
The woman smiled, relaxing slightly to lean on the banister.

'Then you are as we, for our beginning was as yours. I am Kaishas. I rule here while master chieftain, my mate, is away. Long have we been on this home but not always. The mothers of our great-grandmothers were from away, but travelled near and the depths swallowed their ship,' she explained, chuckling slightly to add, 'accursed cliffs below have sharper teeth than we.'  
'You were shipwrecked?' came Imoen behind her, all enthusiasm, 'how long ago? We've come looking for an ancient wreck.'  
'You have?' she confirmed, pale eyebrows raised, 'how you know of this place? We are undisturbed for age upon age but you know of our wreck?'  
'It was seen by a passing merchant ship,' continued Jaheira, 'and bears the markings of Balduran, a hero that went missing some three hundred years ago. A scholar named Mendas hired us to find it.'

'Mendas?' The woman shook her head, suddenly sad, 'I do not know this name. I had hoped... One of our kin left the island some time ago, our chieftain, Selaad and I thought he might have sent you. I know not Balduran either. He was not among our founders; he never belonged.'  
She shrugged slightly and breathed a sigh before continuing.  
'As for the wreck, I have not seen for year upon year, but know where it is, I do. It is on the other side of the island, it is. In the place of the beasts.'  
'Beasts?' Fritha heard herself say, a familiar unease rising within her. Kaishas' eyes darkened.  
'They kill us on sight!' she snarled, slamming a hand on to the rail with an anger that shook the entire ladder. 'Wolf-like but not wolves. Man-like but not men. I-I sorry, but I do not know what you would call them.'

Fritha frowned. She knew exactly what _she'd_ called them and by the worried looks passing between the others, they were thinking along the same lines. Werewolves.  
'This village is refuge but the island is wild. They do not belong.'  
The woman shook her head and added with finality, 'they are death to us and we to them.'  
Kaishas sighed, leaning more heavily against the rail as she continued.  
'The first of the mothers were concerned only with survival, but now we wish to go. We fought tooth and nail in past, but we want peace in life. We did start to build a ship-home. After all, if we can build the wall and village we can build the ship to leave. But we could not build on this side on island because of reef and cliffs below the sea. The other side is calm but beasts live there.'

She glanced up slowly as though truly noticing them for the first time, eyes travelling over the group and Fritha felt them linger overly long on the blade at her hip.  
'Perhaps you can help,' she continued, suddenly eager, 'you will have a need to leave as well as we. If you kill the beasts you can get the ship-wreck and we can all together leave.'  
'We will investigate the matter;' said Jaheira, briefly glancing over the rest of them for any signs of dissent, 'perhaps bloodshed can be avoided in the end.'  
Kaishas shrugged loosely.  
'They will not allow, but try, see for yourselves.'  
Jaheira nodded, the man at her side speaking up.

'The wreck has l-left us in need of supplies. Have you anything we m-may be able to use?'  
The woman smiled slightly, pointing east to the building just next to them.  
'The reef has hurt many ship-homes and much has been washed ashore here over years. We use little, but collect all. Go and see if there is anything. If it has use to you then it is yours… a sign of the goal we share.'  
They thanked her and she nodded, turning to re-enter her hut as she spoke.  
'The wreck is north. Leave through the break in the wall, the guard will let you pass. Good hunting.'

Fritha followed her friends up the steps of the building next to them, the room so dark after the glare of outside, she found herself momentarily blind. She glanced about her, eyes adjusting to the gloom to find herself in one long open room filled with boxes and chests from which spilled everything from old sections of sail to broken weapons and rusting armour. The others were already rooting through the jumble, seeing what they could use, but Fritha had lost nothing in the shipwreck bar her mail and after watching them a moment turned to step back out into the glare.

Outside, the sun was high and hot, and she squinted in its gaze, descending the steps to take a few paces into the square and was absently watching the sea when something caught her sleeve. She turned to a woman of middle years, her worn tan face so distraught, Fritha could not help but take a step back.

'You! You are the strangers they speak of. Please, you must help me, I have no one else!'  
'What's wrong?'  
'My baby,' she sobbed, burying her face in her hands, dark hair falling forward to hide it, 'they have him! Oh, please!'  
Fritha patted her arm awkwardly, glancing about for Khalid or Dynaheir, but they were still inside and she sighed inwardly.  
'Please, calm down. What has happened?  
'I sorry,' she finally breathed, lifting her head to fix her with dark teary eyes, 'It's been so hard, not knowing. Two moons ago my husband took my son out hunting with him. They were attacked by the beasts. They… they killed my husband and took my baby.'  
The woman stopped, tears threatening to overwhelm her again, her breathing deepening as she tried to control herself.

'Ka- Kaishas says that they will have eaten him, but I know he still alive. But they won't go and look for him and stop me from leaving the village. Please,' she breathed, almost trembling, her terror clear in the face of Fritha's worried frown, 'please, you _must_ help me.'  
Fritha stared back, a horrible hollow feeling welling just under her ribs; the child was more than likely dead, but…  
She took the woman's shoulder and firmly held her gaze.  
'I will do all I can.'  
The woman nodded, tears finally getting the better of her and before Fritha could say anything more, she had turned and fled down the path.

Fritha sighed, offering up a silent prayer to anyone that was listening for the child's safe return as the door behind her opened and the others filed into the square. She led the way northward past the chieftain's hut to stop in the gardens behind it, the plot a hive of activity as the villagers tended their crops. Amongst other things, Minsc and Khalid had found leather armour to fit, and the women were helping them dress, more than one villager glancing up curiously at the unfamiliar sight.

Fritha wandered away from them, following the wall with half an idea of taking a look through the break, when she noticed a tall young man with a sandy shock of hair ambling towards her from across the field. He waved as he approached suddenly stopping and dropping his hand when but a few paces away before seeming to remember himself and taking the last few steps to her, albeit more unsurely than before.

He stood in front of her a moment in silence and the first thing that struck her was how tall he seemed, not as tall a Minsc but somehow, something more. His face was broad and open, hazel eyes looking down at her with a shy curiosity and for some reason she wished with all her soul she hadn't been washed ashore a couple of hours before or, at least, she wished she didn't look like she had. He too seemed just as nervous, his voice wavering slightly as he extended a hand.  
'Hello. You are of the strangers Solianna speaks of. I am Durlyle and I am pleasured to meet you.'

His hand was large and surprisingly warm, and she felt very aware of her calluses as they brushed against his palm.  
'Nice to meet you too, I'm Fritha.'  
'There is quite the talk of you around the village. None have seen your like before, not even some of the eldest,' he paused and looked at her a moment, all indecision and reserve, 'though perhaps _you_ are used to this.'  
So subtle it could have been imagined, it took a moment for the slight stress to sink in and Fritha found herself at a complete loss for words, looking up at him with mouth ajar. There was something quite intimate in his awkwardness, and she worried at once that he had noticed her staring and could perhaps read her thoughts on her face and hurriedly dropped her eyes.  
'Quite…'

A loaded silence hung between them, and Fritha found herself unable to even look up at him, her mind groping blindly something to say, the girlish chattering of Imoen filling her ears as she felt herself colour.  
…_a good nervous, like, I don't know, thousands of butterflies are inside me…  
_But whatever was happening to her insides now, bore little resemblance to that; much less the fluttering of butterflies, and more the frenetic wet flipping of a landed fish.

'So…' she finally ventured, still taking a keen interest in her feet, 'what is it you do here?'  
'What do I do? he repeated, seemingly surprised she was interested, 'well, I am history.'  
She looked up sharply and their eyes met, a sudden rush of warmth engulfing her and the piscine writhings of her stomach dissolved. She smiled and they suddenly burst into shared laughter, their previous awkwardness forgotten.

'Forgive me,' he continued once their laughter had faded, 'I mean I am historian. I keep the stories of the great elders and of the few relics of old. I try to keep the old tongue as well but we have been our own for some time. What of you? What do you do?'  
'Oh, not much really,' she shrugged, unwilling to share the truth of it with him, 'just travel, sometimes do work for people. We came here to find an old shipwreck, though things are more complicated than they first seemed.'  
He nodded, glancing behind to the gap in the wall as he spoke.

'Yes, I heard you are to go out beyond the wall and face the beasts; a most dangerous task. I wonder if the wreck you seek is worth it.'  
'Perhaps not, but Kaishas' boat and the child certainly are.'  
'Child?' he repeated, turning back to her sharply, 'you mean Maralee's son? You would risk your life to save one who is not your kin, who does not belong to yours? Even when their own refuse them?'  
'Of course,' she shrugged, smiling slightly as she added, 'though don't get me wrong, I go also to negotiate on Kaishas' ship.'  
'But you would go if only the child.'  
It wasn't a question, but a statement and said with pride too and a gravity in his eyes that made it feel more like a compliment. Her blush intensified and she felt a strong desire to play it down.

'Everyone has different skills in this world but we must use them for the benefit of all. If your people cannot retrieve the child, why shouldn't we? I will help anyone one, if I can. I only hope that when I need it, others will do the same for me.'  
He smiled again, but this time more shyly and when he spoke his voice was hesitant.  
'I too, have a task for you if you will hear me…'  
She smiled, nodding once for him to continue.  
'It is a simple task, complicated some. The storm you felt, that took your ship? It was fierce here too and a cloak that draped the village centre was cast to the wind. I have spent the morning searching for it, but I think it is beyond the wall and I cannot risk the beasts to get it. It is from old, old as we people. From the ship-home that crumbled beneath and symbolises the past we came from. You know the importance of symbols? Well, this is ours...'  
'Fritha, are you ready?'

She turned to find the others had already passed her and were gathered at the break, Jaheira beckoning to her.  
She glanced back to him, his warm eyes hopeful.  
'If I find it, it's yours.'  
He smiled, bowing slightly.  
'My thanks, Fritha. I wish you well.'

'So, who was that, then?' muttered Imoen, once they were past the wall and travelling north through the forest beyond. Fritha kept her eyes down, focusing on the changing tones of her old leather bag, stained here and there in white where the seawater had dried.  
'Hmm? Oh, Durlyle… he's the island's historian.'  
'He seemed nice,' Imoen pressed, her grin getting wider by the second.  
'Yes, I suppose…' she conceded, trying to concentrate on the worn leather as she felt her face colouring, her anger at herself only growing as a smile began pulling at the corners of her mouth.  
'You're smiling…'  
'_So?  
_'_And_ you've gone all defensive!' Imoen laughed triumphantly, clapping her hands together with obvious joy.

'No I haven't! Stop laughing!' she snapped back, pursing her lips against a grin as she stalwartly turned her attention back to the path ahead, just in time to prevent herself walking into a tree.  
'Oh, come on, Fritha, tell me…' the girl pleaded, looking worried for the first time during their exchange that perhaps gossip would _not_ be forthcoming. 'Just a sentence, just- just one word!'  
'_One_ word?'  
Imoen nodded, her eyes shining and earnest like rose-cut peridot.  
Fritha bit her bottom lip and smiled.  
'Butterflies.'

They could have heard Imoen's shriek on the mainland.

xxx

Khalid smiled, keeping only half a mind on the path ahead of him as he listened to the earnest chatter of the girls behind him, or to one of them, at least. Though too far back for him to hear any details, it was clear from Imoen's fervent questions on hair and looks and the like, that Fritha had become acquainted with one of the local youths; a matter that quite clearly required much discussion, though Fritha did not seem to be looking at it like that.

'Imoen, I've told you everything I know a dozen times over, now stop being silly!'  
He bit back a laugh as Fritha drew up beside him flushed and scowling in a look that was reminiscent of his wife when she was caught out. She glanced to him, seemingly conscious of her appearance for she shook herself and sent him a smile, her mouth opening to perhaps explain when another cut her off.  
'Up ahead, there's a house.'

He glanced up, the trees thinning as they reached the others to find themselves in a clearing, a rundown hut in the centre.  
'Do you suppose it's part of the village?' came Imoen behind him.  
'It s-seems a little past the boundary, don't you think?'  
'I doubt werewolves would bother to build a house,' said Fritha, turning to him with a nonchalant shrug, 'only one way to be sure though.'  
And before anyone else could comment, she walked smartly up to the door and knocked.  
Silence. She slowly turned back to them all with raised eyebrows.

'Try the door,' called Imoen and they watched as the handle twisted easily under Fritha's hand.  
'It's open.'  
'Maybe no one lives there anymore…'  
'There is no smoke from the chimney,' agreed Jaheira, taking a cursory glance to the roof before moving forward to join her and Khalid stepped up as well, following Fritha into the darkness.  
But it was clear as soon as he crossed the threshold that however neglected the building seemed, it was most definitely habited.

The place was filled with salvage. A sailcloth curtain heavy with dust hung along their left, dividing the room in two and cutting off any light from the building's only window, but even through the gloom he could see the walls covered with everything from frayed lengths of rope and bundles of herbs, to a worn figurehead in the form of a mermaid. Barrels and chests packed every available space, serving as both tables and storage, a clear path through the chaos leading to a rickety chair which stood, pride of place, before the unlit hearth.

Fritha picked her way before him, drawn to the mermaid that watched them with serene chipped eyes, when suddenly the curtain was thrown back, a shape appearing and Khalid glanced up to see the curved gleam of a sickle swipe down at the girl as a voice screamed, 'back, back I say!'

Everyone leapt backwards immediately, hisses from behind him indicating some had been more prompt than others. The man however did not press forward, still half hidden behind the curtain, tensed and wary. He took another swipe at Fritha but she made no move to her sword, perhaps believing it would only aggravate things, and Khalid felt himself step up behind her, his own weapon half drawn and ready in case the situation escalated.  
'Calm down,' she soothed, a hand aloft, 'we're sorry. I tried to knock and the door was open…'

The figure finally stepped forward, the shadows falling back to reveal a worn looking elf, his deep green eyes staring back at them with something akin to awe.  
'Can it be?' he breathed, taking another step toward her and Khalid sensed her tense slightly at the frantic look in his eyes, 'after all this time? By Selune's blade, I am saved!'  
'Saved?' repeated Fritha, 'from what?'  
'From what?' he snapped, brandishing the sickle at her again in his anger, Khalid's grip on his hilt tightening though the girl did not flinch. 'From where! From this accursed island!'  
Fritha just stared back, her voice even.

'You're not one of the villagers?'  
He opened his mouth to reply when he suddenly stopped, her artlessness seeming to finally calm him, tucking the sickle back into his belt to bow.  
'Forgive me, child. I- I have not had guests for several centuries. I am Dradeel,' he continued stepping back slightly to include all of them in the introduction, 'mage and recent convert to the church of Selune. I was the guide for Balduran's brave adventures to Anchorome and beyond.'  
He sighed, crossing to sink into the chair with a shake of his head.  
'But that was long ago and I have lived here for countless years, alone except for the occasional skirmishes with the diseased ones. I have little taste for battle but they are abominations not fit for this world.'  
'Disease? You mean the lycanthropy?' questioned his wife behind him and the mage nodded tiredly as Fritha continued.  
'We understand their lair is Balduran's wreck. We're here to talk with them.'  
'Talk!' he snorted, angry once more, 'the only communication you'll get will be in violence!'

But Fritha just shrugged her acceptance of this risk and Dradeel's eyes burned bright.  
'By the Gods, if you're willing to fight these terrors then you must assist me! My spell book was within that wreck and with it returned I may be able to discover a way off the island.'  
'Where would it be?'  
'In a chest in my cabin,' he stuttered as he leapt up, scrabbling eagerly among the papers on a nearby box to retrieve a tattered plan of the ship. 'See there? The one next to Balduran's, just below the deck. The wreck lies to the northeast of here, another half an hours walk away.'  
She glanced round to them all with a shrug before turning back to him.  
'Okay, we'll see what can be done.'  
'Oh, my most heartfelt thanks, friends,' he cried, tossing the paper aside to heartily shake her hand. 'You go to the wreck this day? Please you must take tea with me before you set off, it has been so long since I had company.'

It was agreed, the old mage disappearing through the curtain while the rest of them found seats in the chaos, Khalid settling on a chest under a boarded-up window, the two girls finding space together opposite, on an rusty tin bath they'd turned upside down.

'Here we are,' sang Dradeel appearing with a large cracked teapot in hand, a row of seven cups dancing after him as he bustled back through the curtains. 'Nice hot tea- I picked the nettles fresh this morning,' he added brightly, causing Imoen to choke half way through her first mouthful, the girl at her side frowning as she stared into her cup.  
Khalid glanced down at his own drink, the dark green liquid shimmering, before taking a tentative sip and being pleasantly relieved. The bitter woody flavour reminded him somewhat of the pinecone tea Jaheira used to make when their travels took them far from civilisation. He glanced to his wife who had obviously recalled it too, sending him a smile over the rim of her cup before turning her attention back to the mage.

'Shame I could not have let you try my nightshade blend,' Dradeel continued with a genial sigh, settling back into his own chair to set the pot down on the floor beside him. 'Quiet delicious; the only drawback being it's nearly always fatal.'  
Imoen snorted into her cup again, but whether from shock or amusement Khalid could not tell. Dradeel glanced up at the noise though, and Fritha took the moment to ask in clear polite tones about the mage's past voyages, the tales of his journeys lasting them until the pot was dry.

The last farewells said, they filed out, Dradeel's mix of thanks and instruction still following them as they continued north. The mage's generosity had extended to provisions as well, though they found them a little less useful than the ones the village had supplied, an interesting mix of potions and scrolls that easily occupied the youngest of them.

'So what did you get?' asked Imoen, as she searched through the bottles that now filled her pack, the vials chiming as they walked.  
Fritha shrugged, throwing open her own bag to root gently through the top.  
'A treaties on the cultivation of legumes, a broken dagger and,' she sighed, opening a small parchment packet and sniffing the contents tentatively before folding the paper back along the creases, 'unless I'm very much mistaken, some of his famous nightshade blend.'  
Imoen snorted.  
'Mmm, yum. Save that for when we next see Whalen,' she grinned but Fritha found she could not join her, her friend's laughter trailing off as they both looked up to see the remains of Balduran's final voyage filtering through the trees.

The air seemed unnaturally quiet as they approached, not even the trill of birdsong to break the stillness; only the distant roar of the waves in the cove below. Fritha gazed up at the hulk of dark wood jutting out from the landscape, the remnants of sails that still clung to the shattered mast rippling in the listless air. There were patches where the hull had been torn away, either from the shipwreck itself or where the wreckage had been later dragged ashore, and the ship's framework was visible underneath like the ribs of some slowly rotting beast. Fritha moved closer, walking round to study the intricately carved stern, a weave of merpeople, leviathans and other sea creatures, the gold leaf peeling from their entwined forms shimmering softly in the light reflected across them from the cracked mullioned windows of the captain's cabin.

She followed the others, Imoen at her side, clambering through one of the lower breaches into the darkened hull, the sweet mouldering smell of decay hanging in the air and what she could only hope was wood crunching unpleasantly underfoot. Behind her, familiar chink of Imoen's bag provided a pleasant distraction as Fritha gazed about waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.

'What do you think then, this one?'  
'One what?' she mumbled absently, examining some roughly carved shapes along the closest bulkhead before something clicked.  
'Oh, you are not serious!' she hissed, alarmed as she actually took a moment to glance back and found Imoen with a cork in one hand, sniffing at the open neck of one of her newly acquired bottles. 'Imoen, I'm not sure taking anything he gave us would be such a good idea.'  
But the girl just grinned.  
'Just because you're _scared_.'  
'I am _not _scared,' she frowned, very aware of how like Jaheira she sounded as she continued, 'I just don't think it would be very sensible.'  
But Imoen merely snorted, rolling her eyes before quickly upending the vial and swallowing the lot with a grimace.

'How is it?'  
'Ugh, bitter as anything- oh-'  
'What?' she prompted in urgent whisper.  
'Oh, Fritha,' Imoen breathed, a smile slowly spreading across her face, 'this- this is amazing! Feel my heart!' she snapped, snatching her hand and pulling it to her chest, 'it's doing nineteen to the dozen! It- it's like time's slowed or something. Here, you have some!' she continued suddenly, grabbing another bottle from her bag with little care, it seemed, as to what it actually was and thrusting it out at her earnestly.  
Fritha frowned, taking a step back.  
'I don't need a madman's snakeoil to make _me_ quick.'  
'Fritha-!'

But she never found out was her friend's argument would have been, for at that moment the hatch at the end of the hold dropped open, a broad stocky man with the same olive skin of the villagers appearing on the steps. His gaze travelled over them slowly, amber eyes narrowed as he carefully scented the air and Fritha noticed another leaner man behind him, awaiting his order.  
'You not villagers…' he finally rumbled, 'what you want?'

They were escorted quickly along the labyrinth of cabins and ladders by the two, noticed but unquestioned by the few people they passed along the way, to be finally led into a long open cabin that Fritha recognised as the upper deck, their escort dropping back as the door before them opened. They waited, silent almost huddled, very aware of the two behind them as from the captain's cabin stepped a man followed closely by a woman, both past middle years, the male, tall tanned with greying brushed back hair, his lady, sloe-eyed and, a rarity among the islanders, fair skinned.

'Strangers?' the man confirmed, finally breaking the silence, his thick bushy brow brought low as he surveyed the group. 'What business have you here?'  
His teeth seemed overlarge, almost as though he had to many for his mouth, giving his voice a slightly rasping sound, and Fritha could feel Imoen twitching behind her, the girl having to pry her sleeve from her friend's grasp as she stepped forward to bow, lending a formal air to the meeting.

'We have come on behalf of the village.'  
'Ah,' he chuckled, a unnervingly guttural sound, 'you have been speaking with that bitch, Kaishas, haven't you? I suppose she says we evil and must be destroyed. Lies!' he barked suddenly, slamming a hand against a bulkhead with a ferocity that made them all jump, 'they kill us on sight, we want only peace!'  
'Indeed?' Fritha raised an eyebrow, coolly unruffled though her heart was beating madly. 'The villagers tell a different story. One in particular says you killed her husband and stole her child…'  
'Karoug-!' snapped the woman at his side.

The leader raised a silencing hand, not even sparing her a glance, but it was easy to hear the sharp tone of panic in her voice. His eyes were cool though as he continued.  
'That none of your concern.'  
Fritha moved a hand expressively to her hilt  
'Well, I am making it my concern.'  
His eyes flashed, lips twisting to furious snarl.  
'You _dare_ challenge me! The last thing you do!'

Fritha stood a moment, transfixed as the two in front of her twisted and writhed, thick hair beginning to cover their faces, before two arms seized her from behind, Khalid pulling her into the furthest corner and swinging down the huge tower shield from his back, as Jaheira kicked the bolt across the hatch they entered through, cutting off the lower decks. The others were already there, Minsc in front of the two women his sword drawn and held across him in a low guard, and they took up positions either side of him, forming a line just in time to meet the four werewolves, unrecognisable and looking strange still in their torn clothes.

They stood tightly side-by-side, weapons held outwards as the creatures prowled just out of reach, lunging forward now and then to snap and claw at some exposed flank, the group shifting as one to defend against them. Fritha started as something whistled past her, throwing a half glance back to see Imoen balanced on a chest, her movements barely more than a blur as she leased arrow after arrow into the creatures. But they did little bar keep the beasts from pressing forward too heavily, the arrows glancing off the thickly furred hides; Imoen growing increasingly panicked by the sight.

'By Silvanus, watch where you are aiming!' snapped Jaheira, as one of her more careless shots landed quivering on the inside of Khalid's shield.  
'It's not my fault,' she cried, letting fly another that Fritha found a little close for comfort, 'he moved!'

A sudden crack from behind made Fritha jump, everyone startled as lighting tore through the ship from the Wychlaran, killing one beast stone dead before hitting a bulkhead to run to earth. The second of distraction was all Karoug needed though, a huge paw knocking aside Fritha's sword and suddenly she was staring into a mouth of cracked yellow teeth.

It all happened without a thought; bringing her free hand up to instinctively strike out at him for all the good it would have done, when her fingers seemed to tingle and a white hot light flared in his face. The beast jumped back, blinded and Minsc stepped forward, breaking the line to bring up his blade and run him through, just as another beast leapt on him, teeth sinking easily through the leather and into his arm. Minsc roared, the hilt slipping from his hand and the sword fell with Karoug, Khalid killing the creature on his arm as Imoen felled the last with a shot through the eye.

Dynaheir was already upon Minsc, helping him remove the bracer as Jaheira moved in to take a look, Khalid stooping to retrieve the man's sword. Fritha glanced back to Imoen, who had leapt off the chest by now and was examining the dead werewolf with keen interest, though she straightened as she noticed Fritha watching and bounded over with a grin.

'Did you see that shot? Right through the eye! Gods, I'm good,' she boasted happily and Fritha smiled, her comment of "more luck that judgement" remaining unspoken.  
'And what was that flash?' she continued, snatching up her hand as though looking for signs of blackpowder.  
'I… I don't know. It just happened, like a reaction.'  
Dynaheir glanced up, her eyes moving slowly over the pair.

'Thou hast never cast ere this day?'  
Fritha shook her head.  
'I was taught some spells back in Candlekeep. Just small stuff like mage fire and a finding cantrip, but I was never very good at anything more complex. I can never remember the words or the order without it written down in front of me.'  
Dynaheir took her hand as Imoen had, examining it before a slight smile graced her features.  
'Well, recalled or not, thou just cast magic, child. Dost thou see the blue about thine fingers, do not stare,' she chided, smiling as Fritha glared at her fingertips, 'thou must try to look without seeing.'

And sudden it was there; a faint aura of blue dust that swirled about them as she moved.  
'It is the trace all magic leaves.'  
'But I didn't cast anything,' Fritha cried, 'I don't even know that spell.'  
'Ah well, some are born with a mind for magic,' here she smiled gently at Imoen, 'and some with a soul for it. The magic is within thee, child.'  
Minsc groaned behind her and she glanced back, clearly feeling she was neglecting her protector.  
'We may speak more of this later.'

Fritha nodded once, feeling slightly unsettled and was glad to leave Imoen unlocking a chest, walking through to the captain's room alone. A large desk dominated the small cabin and it wasn't until she'd moved round it to get to the draws that she noticed an upturned crate filled with scraps of cloths where, nestled and sleeping, was a young child.  
Her heart swelled. To find him alive so completely unexpected that for a moment all she could do was watch his sleeping form, before the reality of it sank in.

'Er, Jaheira-' she called, nervously taking a step backwards as though even a close proximity to the child was likely to cause trouble.  
'What is it?' came the druid's impatient reply, 'I'm still with Minsc.'  
'Well, I've found that woman's baby.'  
Imoen instantly appeared in the doorway, her eyes bright, and though Fritha was worried to admit it, slightly crazed.  
'A baby!'  
Fritha hesitated a moment before pointing to the crate and Imoen rushed over, obviously delighted.  
'Er, Imoen… perhaps you'd best not…'

Fritha trailed off. Imoen was paying her no mind though, lifting the child out carefully, cooing and murmuring in a high-pitched sort of way. He slowly opened his eyes with a yawn, giving a slight whimper, and then another… and another, before suddenly opening his mouth and bawling at the top of his lungs.  
Imoen certainly looked a lot less enchanted with him then, holding him out at arms length her face screwed up against the noise.  
'By Silvanus!' came a roar from the adjoining room and Fritha backed against the wall in anticipation of the next player.

On cue, Jaheira stalked into the room looking highly unimpressed, taking the baby from Imoen and holding it to her, trying to quiet it. But the crying continued and Jaheira mumbled something about 'fresh air', threw a last dirty look at Imoen, turned and walked out. Fritha sighed and shook her head before continuing her search of the cabin. A couple of journals and an interesting selection of weapons later and she and Imoen rejoined the others in the adjacent room. Jaheira had managed to quieten the child somewhat but his low grizzling still filled the air.

'Ah, there you are,' she announced abruptly as they entered, marching up and thrusting the boy out at them.  
The girls froze.  
'Well, take him then! I've got to finish with Minsc.'  
'But what about Khalid, or Dynaheir,' cried Imoen, taking a step behind her friend.  
The druid's expression darkened, the two in question suddenly becoming very interested in the parchment they had found, the child seeming to sense this tension in the group as the crying immediately went up a notch. Jaheira glared at Fritha accusingly and resigned, the girl held out her hands.  
'All right, show me what to do.'

The woman's instructions were hardly what Fritha would have called thorough though, Jaheira doing little more than dumping the child into her arms and telling her not to drop him, something even Fritha could have probably worked out for herself.  
And Imoen was little use either, suggesting so many different remedies at a rate that left Fritha with no time to start one before she was proposing another. So in the end, she sent Imoen off to look for Dradeel's book, found herself a quiet corner and sat with the boy cradled in her lap, gently recounting to him the various punishments she would be inflicting upon Imoen for waking him, as soon as her friend was sensible enough to truly appreciate them.

Minsc's arm bandaged, they finally headed out; the ship eerie and silent as they descended through the decks. Fritha walked at their centre with the child, who seemed to sense the atmosphere too and gave no more than a stifled whimper as he pressed his face into her neck. All around them, the shadows of the remaining werewolves, still in their human forms, slinked and prowled, watching them with narrowed eyes. But no one stopped their passage and Fritha suspected the next fight within that rotting hulk would be a strictly in-pack affair. At last they reached the hold, and moments later she was stood on the grass outside, blinking in the sunlight, a cool breeze sweeping in from the sea to banish the last of her fears, even the child's fretful crying heartening in its own way.

'Hey now, what's all this?' she asked gently, smoothing a hand over the soft blonde head, the boy looking up as though surprised to be addressed. 'The worst is over now, we're all out, safe and sound.'  
'Fritha, come on!' cried Imoen who was already ahead of them, marching back towards Dradeel's house. Fritha glanced to the boy and shrugged, readjusting her hold slightly and setting off after her, continuing their conversation as though they had not been interrupted.  
'You're quite lucky really, this will be a proper story to tell your grandchildren. Stolen by werewolves when you were just a child. You can even say you had a hand in our escape, helped fight them off and such. They'll not hear otherwise from me…'

xxx

Jaheira smiled to herself, looking ahead to where Fritha was carrying the child, telling him the names of the trees and plants as they went, every now and then, picking up an interesting-looking flower or stone for his closer inspection.  
She had to admit it, she was impressed.

That the girl had managed to quieten him whilst they were still in the ship was commendable, but once outside, Fritha had wrought such a drastic transformation in the child that even Dynaheir had started to show an interest, the boy giggling and babbling away nonsensically as she talked with him.  
'Obviously they're a closer level of intelligence,' she'd muttered to Khalid at the time, but to be honest she really did marvel at the way Fritha had taken to the child.  
The party had arrived back at the hut by now and Jaheira moved over to where Fritha had halted, waiting for the rest of them to catch up, still chatting to the child at her hip.

'Now we're going to see Dradeel. He's a mage who's been trapped here for hu-ndreds of years, so he's quite mad. But don't worry, he's very nice and-'  
'Fritha, dost thou really think there is any point in telling all that to that… _child,_' Dynaheir cut in, staring warily at the boy as though merely mentioning his name was likely to provoke him.  
'Oh, Dynaheir, don't be so mean!' cried Imoen, turning to the child and leaning in far too close, causing the boy to hide his face once more in Fritha's neck. 'Frithy is just keeping you occupied, isn't she. Yes, she is, yes she is.'  
Fritha looked severely unimpressed.  
'_Frithy?_ I hope that speech impediment's going to wear off with the potion.'  
Jaheira snorted, pushing past them both to knock on the mage's door, a muffled reply drifting through the wood.

'W-Who is it. Friend or foe?'  
'It's us, Dradeel,' shouted Imoen, blithely brandishing the tome she'd found, 'we've got your book.'  
'My book!'  
The door flew open a hand appearing from nowhere to snatch it from her, the mage hugging it to his chest.  
'Yes, yes, yes!'  
And before anyone else could speak, he waved his hand, a silvery portal shimmering behind him and he was gone.  
'Charming!' complained Fritha, the first to break the stunned silence, turning to the child in her arms. 'Well, that wasn't very nice, was it, my lamb. No, it wasn't.'  
She bounced him slightly, the boy shrieking with delight and moving a chubby fist to grab an inviting lock of her hair.  
'Ow ow ow ow!' she winced, lowering her head as the child pulled down. Dynaheir stepped in to the rescue though, distracting the boy long enough for Fritha to pry her hair free while the others filtered into the hut.

'Anything we can use?' she asked as she followed them inside.  
'I think I've found that boy's cloak,' said Jaheira straightening from a chest to hold up a muddy length of material and Fritha tried not to look too interested, turning away to come face to face with Imoen and a large sheaf of bound papers.  
'And look! Look Fritha, look what he's got in his recipe book. I tell you, that Dradeel, madder than a bag of cats, he was. Mad, mad, mad.'  
Fritha sighed as the child on her hip began to fret again at the noise.  
She'd soon be joining him, if Imoen didn't calm down.


	16. Of Wolves and Men

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them. I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Of Wolves and Men**

Back within the village boundaries, life, it seemed, was carrying on as usual, a strange contrast to the carnage they had just experienced. Jaheira cast an eye over the pastoral scene. Harmless though it seemed, she still felt uncomfortable; the people here watched them with an all too guarded eye. She shook herself, trying to allay this unease as she turned back to the group gathered behind her. The child was crying again, his grizzling doing nothing to ease her nerves and she could see the tension in the others too; the group shifting impatiently, ready for some rest, as Fritha paced slowly back and forth before the break, keeping up a near constant murmur at his ear in an effort to sooth him.

'Can't you distract it or something?' snapped Imoen, uncharacteristically irritable ever since Dradeel's concoction had finally worn off an hour ago.  
'No…_ he's_ tired or hungry, I'm not sure,' Fritha sighed, clearly struggling to keep her patience with them both as she rocked the child, now trying to tempt him with a crooked finger she'd dipped in honey. 'Hush, there now, it's okay.'  
The boy quietened slightly as he finally accepted, sucking on her sweetened finger, for the moment mollified, and Jaheira turned her attention back to the group.

'We can make camp on the beach near to where we came ashore. The ground there was high enough and the dunes will provide shelter.'  
'And what of…?' Dynaheir questioned with a glance to the child.  
'I'm taking him back to his mother,' Fritha announced, her tone just daring anyone to question her. No one did.  
'Here,' she continued, hefting the infant on to her hip and holding out a hand, 'give me that cloak and I'll kill two birds with one stone.'  
It was a testament to Imoen's tiredness that no comment was made at this and Jaheira handed it over, watching the girl walk down into the east of the village before rallying her own charges to lead them south-westwards back to the dunes.

xxx

Fritha sighed, the sun warm on her back as she walked with the child toward the main square, shoving the cloak into her bag as she went. The square lay empty though, bright and dry in the afternoon, and it was in an effort to find some shade and consider her next move that she found her mark. She crossed the square in a few strides, slipping into the shadow of the furthest building when she saw her. A weary figure, slowly hoeing the plot behind her home, sweat beading the hairs at the base of her neck. Fritha felt her heart swell and drew a deep breath.

'Er, Maralee?'  
The woman straightened slowly but did not turn and Fritha could see her shoulders trembling.  
'Maralee, he's fine.'  
A great shuddering cry rose up from her and she whirled round, sweeping them both into her arms, the cries of both mother and child filling the air.  
Finally, they parted, the child now with his mother and still grizzling slightly from the commotion.

'You, my, oh, you brought him, oh, my son, my child.' She sobbed, cradling him close and staring with wonder from him to her, 'oh thank you, thank you!'  
Maralee clasped her hand tightly, smiling with a joy that went beyond thanks before releasing her, turning to show the child to those who the noise had gathered.  
'See! Do you see? He's alive, he's returned!'  
One last glance and smile to her through the press, and mother and child moved away into her home, the crowd leaving with them.  
Fritha watched them go, as happy as she'd ever been.

'And I trust you have all returned as well?'  
That voice…  
She whirled to find a familiar pair of hazel eyes smiling down at her.  
'Durlyle!'  
His smile broadened as she said his name, shyly dropping his gaze to his hands.  
'I... I was worried.'  
Fritha smiled too.

'All of us returned, and as whole and hale as ever we were, plus...' she paused teasingly, slowly opening her bag, 'something that you may have more of an interest in…'  
He glanced up at this, eyes wide as he breathed, 'you- you have it? I dared not hope.'  
'Ta-dah!' she laughed, sweeping the cloak out with a flourish and handing it to him, 'a little muddy from its trip, but none the worse for wear.'  
He grinned broadly at her, before it faltered slightly and he dropped his gaze to the cloak he now held.  
'I am grateful beyond measure… but sad as well, that I have nothing to give you.'  
'Well, thanks tends to be the going rate for what we do,' she continued, for some reason unable to stop smiling, 'and you've already given that. But, since you're the historian here, you could tell me a little of you and yours if you want.'  
He glanced up sharply, a slow smile spreading across his face.

'You, you wish to hear of the histories? I- I am flattered. There are few in the village that take an interest. '  
'Well, I trained as a bard so-'  
She stopped at his puzzled look.  
'A…? Sorry, I do not know this word.'  
'You don't?' she confirmed, momentarily at a loss, 'oh… well, bards are people who er, well, they play music, sing, perform dramatics, er, recite poetry, write-'  
'You do all this?'  
'What? Oh gods, no!' she cried, laughing at his awed expression. 'No, most bards only study in one or two disciplines- and I'm pretty rubbish at all of them,' she added with a grin. 'But I do collect stories. Histories, legends…' She trailed off as Durlyle stared down at her, saying nothing, and nervously she took the time to add, almost as though to prove her worth, 'I've a good memory for them and they say I tell them well.'

But he remained silent, and Fritha worried she'd somehow offended him when he finally spoke, casting his gaze northward, out beyond the wall.  
'In the north, the histories speak of some ruins from before the beasts were cast out, when all belonged... I have never seen them, but now...'  
He paused, turning back to look at her, a strange light in his eyes.  
'Would you like to go?'  
Fritha smiled, all at once relieved and warmed.  
'Very much.'

A quick detour to restore the cloak to its rightful place in the village centre and Durlyle led the way through the opening in the wall, skirting westwards along the boundary before breaking off to head north through the forests, both of them keeping an eye out for any of the remaining werewolves. But they saw no one as they walked side by side beneath the shade of the trees, Fritha delighting in the breeze, the birdsong and his company; her breathlessness having nothing to do with the pace he'd set, though she might have liked to pretend otherwise.  
And all the while they talked, Durlyle pressing her for details of the shipwreck that had brought his people to the island so long ago, her showing him the journals she had found before their conversation moved on to more personal subjects.

'I was born here twenty winters ago,' Durlyle began, in answer to her enquiries of his family, 'though my father was already dead by then, a victim of the beasts, and sickness claimed my mother before I reached my second year. I was raised since then by the previous historian, Gidaal, an elder who taught me of the time before and the histories of we people.'  
He smiled gently, his eyes gaining a distance as he continued, 'I found it interesting. Having no sense of past without my parents, I liked the idea I could trace myself back, that I belonged. Gidaal himself died some years back now, but I have always the others; all belong. What of you, Fritha? Did you leave a family on the mainland?'  
She turned her attention to the path ahead, toying briefly with the idea of explaining things before shaking her head.

'No, I… I did not know my father… and my mother died in childbirth. I was raised in Candlekeep, a library fortress, by one of the sages there. He was Gorion. He cared for me as a daughter, but he was taken from me, murdered while protecting me from bounty hunters but three months ago.'  
'Oh,' he exclaimed with surprise, his expression pained, 'I am sorry truly, I- I do not know what to say.'  
She shrugged and offered him a wan smile; there wasn't really much he could say, though his concern was warming in its own way.  
They continued on a moment, neither speaking when he suddenly cried 'ah, look!' and she glanced up to see him smiling, gazing out through the trees.

'Do you see the ruins?'  
'No, but just as precious.'  
He quickened his pace and Fritha noticed a small clearing up ahead left by a fallen tree, its rotting trunk still lain across the glade. The break in the canopy had allowed sunlight to reach the forest floor and a carpet of murky indigo flowers covered the ground.  
'Belladonna. Beautiful, are they not?' he smiled, stooping to pick the closest bloom and hold it out for her study. 'Can you smell them? They smell strongly of...' he paused to think on this before admitting with a laugh, 'I know not what.'

Fritha leant forward slightly and inhaled, the musky, faintly sweet scent of the flowers mingling with the earthy smell of his hands.  
'They are rare here,' he continued, his voice lower, somehow bolder, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise, 'even in high summer and grow in only a few places… like friendship and… other things…'

His voice trailed off and she could sense him looking down at her, her eyes still fixed on the flower he held. She straightened slowly, part of her so desperate to look up at him, to know what would happen, the rest more afraid than she had ever been. Finally, she faced him and they just stood watching each other, the sounds of the forest magnified to an almost deafening level, pollen sparkling in the air about them, every ounce of her willing him to do it, unsure of exactly _what_ she was waiting for as she watched the shadow of it play behind his eyes, before he suddenly smiled and it was gone. He reached forward, entwining the flower about her bag strap with ease and she smiled back, disappointment and relief cancelling each other out.

'Come, it's just up ahead.'  
She nodded, moving to follow him, another rush of warmth leaving her knees weak as he shyly caught her hand to lead her.

They reached the ruins but moments later, the forest thinning and at last falling away as they drew nearer to the coast. The ancient hall stood silent before them in stone, tall and imposing, and looking out of place in the wilderness of its surroundings. Durlyle led the way; slowly circling the building once before stepping under the high arched doorway, Fritha at his side.  
The inside was dark, shafts of light splitting the gloom where areas of thatch had been lost, the air above them thrumming with the purr of roosting doves. The walls were lined with wooden pillars; a simple pattern of leaves half-carved, half-burnt on to each and continuing up them as far as the shadows would allow her to see.

'Durlyle,' she whispered, for some reason unwilling to break the stillness of the place as she beckoned him over to a section of wall, where a series of intricate markings had been carved. He studied them a moment before turning back to her with a shrug, none the wiser, taking some thin reed paper and stained wax from his bag, and Fritha watched as he took a rubbing. They moved on, Durlyle stopping every now and then to take notes or collect a sample of tile or stonework, Fritha tearing a page from her journal to make a quick sketch of the inside, complete with annotations and measurements, before they both returned to the sunlight of the open air, where at last it seemed they could speak freely.  
Durlyle shook his head, shading his eyes beneath a hand as he gazed up at the building with awe.

'I knew the histories spoke of a meeting hall, but that we people could have built such a thing, I never imagined…' he trailed off, turning to her as though his wonder was beyond expression.  
Fritha smiled gently.  
'Perhaps more could be accomplished when your people and the werewolves worked together. Do you think there can be peace now Karoug is gone?'  
'I do not know…' he shrugged, turning back to the ancient building, 'and before, perhaps I would not have cared. But to see this place, to know what could be done when all belonged…' He smiled down at her fondly, 'I find myself hoping it could be so.'

They remained there for another hour or so, just sat beneath the trees, eating the strange picnic of food that Durlyle happened to have with him and what rations of hers that had managed to survive the shipwreck, before making to head back to the village. They avoided the forests this time though, but for no other reason than the variety of it, Durlyle leading her south along the beach, both with their boots off and wading through the shallow swell until they reached the rocks that formed the natural boundary of the village.

The sun hung low over the sea now, bathing them in light and she watched him leap from rock to rock, his hair and skin glowing gold, every fibre of him smiling as he turned to help her cross some gap or steady her footing.  
Fritha scrambled up the huge boulder that currently blocked her path, seawater still pooled in the depressions and pocks that covered it, standing on its top to throw her arms wide, enjoying the feeling as the breeze tore at her hair and clothes while Durlyle laughed at the sight. She reached down a hand to help him and he climbed up to stand behind her, so close she could feel his warmth as he pointed over her shoulder to the sea before them.

'Out there, from further west than the light sets, we came to this place on a ship home. The explorers brought us long ago and together we sailed east. Then the histories speak of a great storm, though some say it came from within. We that did belong were to be cast aside and fought the explorers we did. The ship sank. Much was lost but this island won.'  
He smiled gently as he dropped his gaze to her, their cheeks almost touching '…it was worth it, I think.'  
'Durlyle,' she ventured, for some reason unsure of her question as she watched the hazel eyes watch her, 'what do you mean when you say you belong?'  
But the youth just shook his head and shrugged, straightening to gaze back out to sea.  
'We belong. If you were to stay, you would belong too. I, I cannot explain more, there are no words for it.'

They walked on, finally crossing the boundary and down into the dunes beyond to settle in the shelter of one of the deeper troughs, the sea just visible over the southern bank, shimmering in the dying sunlight.  
'It's beautiful here,' Fritha sighed, leaning back on the sand behind, her gaze falling on Durlyle who nodded, smiling gently.  
'Yes. It saddens me that many would want to leave. Kaishas and the chieftain, Selaad, speak of the mainland as though it is some fabled paradise and many have been swayed by their words, growing discontented with their lives here that before held only joy for them. But I shall remain whatever is decided, and I am heartened that now the beasts are subdued, others may find a reason to stay as well.'

Fritha smiled, glad to have helped just as she was unhappy with what it meant. Kaishas had given her the impression that all the villagers would want to leave, and the realisation that as soon as she had met him they would be parted again left her suddenly empty. She turned back to the sea, silent, but he seemed to read her thoughts and she could feel him watching her as he continued quietly.

'You will return to the mainland…'  
'Yes,' she confirmed, unable to look at him, 'as soon as Kaishas and the villagers are ready. There is a war coming… I don't know how, but my friends and I just seem to be in the middle of it. We have information though, that could stop the thing before it starts…'  
'And because you can, you will…' he shook his head, 'you, and your friends, I have never met your like before… Even your appearances!' he continued, his voice regaining some of its previous life, 'may I?'  
She turned to find his hand held up as though to remove her hair pins and she obliged him with a shrug, sweeping them both out at once and shaking out the stiff mass of curls. Durlyle whistled through his teeth and she saw a glimpse of the man who had stood with her at the ancient hall.

'I had heard that Karoug's mate had black hair, but yours… I have never seen anything quite as vivid in my life! Do others on the mainland have similar?'  
'This colour? Yes. This messy? …Thankfully no!' she laughed, a touch embarrassed by the state of it as she examined a frosted curl with amused regret. 'It's not normally quite this untidy though; I don't think the saltwater agreed with it.'  
He grinned, taking up a thicker ringlet and straightening it in his fingers, delighting in the way it sprang back once released.  
'I like it.'  
She smiled and shrugged.  
'I'll have to get Imoen to help me brush it out, though it really needs a wash, to be honest.'  
'Do you have a comb with you?'

She smiled tentatively at the unspoken offer and nodded once, fetching out her comb and shifting until she had her back to him, her stomach shuddering as two hand moved up to scoop her hair back, brushing her neck as they passed.  
He moved as well, placing a leg either side of her and, with gentle measured strokes, began to comb it through.  
'You can pull a bit more if you like,' she prompted, his touch so light she suspected he was frightened of catching a knot, 'I don't mind if it hurts. You'll be there all day otherwise.'  
But she did not need to see his face to hear the smile in his voice.  
'I am in no rush.'  
She smiled too, closing her eyes, just enjoying the feel of the comb in her hair and the steady sound of his breathing at her ear.

xxx

Jaheira laid still, watching stars flicker as high clouds drifted overhead, grey against the indigo sky. She sighed and shifted slightly; their bedding had been stored in the hold and lost when the ship went down, but the sand was comfortable enough without and she would have quite enjoyed lying there, the wool of her cloak soft beneath her, had it not been for the sense of unease that haunted her. Ever since they arrived at the island, something had not been resting well with her, something she could not quite explain away as the obvious hostility of the villagers.

Jaheira frowned slightly, raising herself on an elbow to glance about the group around her, her eyes falling on Imoen opposite, who was better for her sleep and now lain on her stomach trying to read what appeared to be a letter in the twilight. She imagined Fritha there with her, giggling with the lively girl or scribbling away in her diary, but Jaheira had not seen her since they first arrived back and though the woman would never have admitted it, she was worried for her.

Jaheira readily confessed that, at first, she had been unconcerned; the girl had always been liable to wander, but as the sun dropped in the west and she had still not returned, Jaheira had begun to worry. It was only when she voiced her concerns to Khalid that the truth of it was found. The man had looked unsure a moment, watching her from beneath a contemplative frown before taking her aside to quietly explain that Fritha had met someone, a boy of her own age; expressly forbidding Jaheira to make a fuss with uncharacteristic firmness.

Jaheira sighed, she could appreciate Khalid's concern at her reaction, but he just did not understand the way she felt when the villagers were near. Something about them was wrong and the idea that Fritha was now alone among them as night fell did nothing to calm her nerves.  
'Dost thou think we should go and find Fritha?' asked Dynaheir from across the dune, the twilight making her face unreadable though Jaheira could hear the concern in her voice. 'The hour grows late and we have yet to report back to Kaishas.'  
Imoen sat up at the mention of her friend, clearly ready with some dissent but Jaheira cut her off.

'I agree. Come on,' she continued to Imoen, standing to shoulder her pack as the Rashemi did the same, 'get your bag and let us go.'  
The girl looked as though she would protest a moment, but Khalid stood as well, offering to help her with her bag and the girl swallowed her complaint, shot her a mutinous look and sullenly rose to follow them.

xxx

Fritha sighed gently. Someone far off was calling her name and she twisted, trying to bury herself from it, soft laughter filling the air as her pillow trembled.  
'Fritha…'  
Finally, she willed herself awake, lifting her head slightly and looking up in to a pair of warm hazel eyes.  
'Durlyle?'  
'Indeed.' He smiled, brushing some stray hair from her face.  
She looked past him to see a hazy crescent moon hung low in the violet sky, the sea quicksilver under its glow. _That_ didn't seem right.

'It's night?'  
'Fritha,' he repeated, smiling at her confusion, 'you fell asleep.'  
She glanced down at what had been serving as her makeshift pillow and felt her stomach twist painfully, a blush slowly creeping in to her cheeks.  
'Sorry about that,' she mumbled, pulling her head back from his outstretched arm and quickly sitting up, 'why didn't you wake me?'  
Durlyle just shrugged, still laid down with his head propped up on his crooked arm and an amused smile pulling at his mouth.  
'You would still be sleeping now, if it were not for them.'  
'Who?' she questioned, scanning about her.  
'Your friends, they must need you.'  
The night was dark. The moon bathing the surrounding dunes in a soft grey light, but a few paces out and the darkness curtained off the world, the only sounds the rustle of the breeze through the dune grass and the distant roar of the sea. Fritha turned back to him, puzzled.

'How do you know?'  
'They are coming,' he repeated, avoiding the question, 'you had better go and report to Kaishas.'  
'Yes…' she agreed after a pause, feeling strangely caught out, 'yes, of course.'  
Durlyle smiled again.  
'I will wait for you outside the halls, if you have no objection.'  
Fritha nodded, reassured slightly and he caught her hand, pressing the comb into it gently before releasing her. One last smile and she rose to see her friends, still over three dunes away, just dark silhouettes in the east.

xxx

Fritha sighed, ambling along as best she could over the shifting sand as she moved towards them, a strange unrest within her. She sincerely wished she hadn't fallen asleep, wasting what little time they had left of their day together. And perhaps even more ardently, she wished she had not been such a coward before, when they'd stood together in the glade. Maybe if she'd made a move as well, touched his sleeve or smiled…

'And not just stood there like a startled rabbit!' her mind scolded and she could not help but smile, albeit ruefully. Surely anything would have been better than the unbearable curiosity that _burned_ within her now. She reached the crest of a dune, pausing to watch as the shadow of her friends gathered at its foot.  
They must have noticed she didn't return that afternoon; had they been worried? Would Imoen have told them?

Embarrassment instantly welled within her at the thought, only to be fought down as soon as it surfaced. Imoen could be a bit self-focused sometimes, but she wouldn't do that. Besides, she had done nothing to be ashamed of and she wasn't going to spend the last couple of days she had with Durlyle skulking about all embarrassed!  
Her decision made, Fritha was suddenly flying down the dune to meet them, an assortment of excuses still whirling in her mind. But they merely greeted her without comment, none of them the slightest bit interested in where she'd been, barring, of course, Imoen.

'So what have _you_ been up to?' she began once they had regrouped and were walking back to the village, the nonchalance of her tone belied by the knowing look she was giving her, 'you never came back to camp…'  
'I went for a walk,' Fritha answered promptly, glad for the darkness as she felt her face colour; _saying_ she wasn't going to be embarrassed and actually not _being_ embarrassed, worlds apart it seemed.  
'A walk? For all this time?' Imoen grinned broadly '…I know you were with _Lyley_.'  
Fritha gave a mild shrug.  
'And what if I was?'  
'Oooo, what did you do?'

Fritha gave her an abridged version of the afternoon, where they visited the ruins and then walked back along the beach, putting heavy emphasis on the educational aspects of the trip. But Imoen was relentless, questioning her over and over about where they had gone and why her hair was down, and when she finally noticed the flower Fritha was sure the girl was going to suffer a palsy. They had reached the square by now, the pair last as the group filed up the steps to Kaishas' hut.

'Oh my gods! What did he do? What did he say?'  
'For the last time Imoen, we just went for a walk!'  
'And?'  
'And nothing.'  
'Come on, tell me!'  
'There's nothing to tell!'  
'Fritha!'  
'Imoen!'  
'Shut _up_!' Snapped a familiar voice, the pair glancing up to see Jaheira glowering down at them, eyes barely visible beneath her frown. Imoen drew herself up, clearly affronted by this interruption, though the druid seemed not to care.

'Not another _word_ from either of you, or you can both wait outside!'  
And with that, she turned smartly on her heel and disappeared inside the hut, leaving Imoen to stare after her, open-mouthed.  
Fritha smirked at her and pulled a face, Imoen returning the gesture with feeling, both giggling away to themselves as they followed the woman into the warm yellow light.

Inside, the others were already sat about the fire pit, Kaishas and a lean tanned man Fritha did not recognise opposite them.  
'I hear you were successful,' the woman smiled, her hair gold in the firelight and Jaheira nodded sternly.  
'The way is now clear and we can leave as soon as you are ready.'  
'Wonderful,' she cried, smiling round at them all, 'we people are truly in your debt. Much there is to be planned for our great voyage. May I please see the sea charts used to get here?'  
Kaishas glanced about expectantly her eyes focusing on Fritha as she made a move to her bag and, after a moment's rummaging, produced a tightly rolled map.

The woman eyed it hungrily, but waited politely until it was passed to her, unfurling it to gaze at the faded inks in the firelight, before rolling it up again and placing reverently on the basket behind her. She turned back to them, still smiling though her voice had taken on a sombre edge as she continued.  
'You are truly deserving of our gift. No more thought of fight or flight, for now you will all belong as we. Hear the tale and join our humble legion.'  
The man at her side stirred slightly, but she held up a hand and he fell silent once more.

'They did not wish to be become as we. They fought our mother's grandmothers and would not reason. Balduran led them and because of his leadership many on both sides died.'  
'But,' began Imoen at her side, and Fritha could hear her own unease in her voice, 'but you said you'd never heard of Balduran.'  
Kaishas smiled gently, almost sadly.  
'He would not belong… and now we know not to ask. It is not so bad and you will begin to feel as we in a short time. It may be... unstable for a time, you may...hurt...' She tailed off, a frown marring her brow as though remembering some past suffering, before she ploughed on. 'But you will live, and we, your kin, shall guide you and you will be as us, not as the beasts were. Together, we shall all go to new forests and plains with your maps and our ship-home.'

Kaishas beamed and extended a hand, unaware it seemed of the horror that slowly dawning on the other side of the flames. 'We welcome you that now belong.'  
Fritha swallowed, staring at that outstretched hand, and the long clawed shadow it threw against the cabin wall.  
'What? They c-cannot mean...?' Khalid whispered at her side, as though afraid voicing it would make it true.  
'Both...' Fritha breathed, hardly able to believe it herself. So much made sense now; things he'd said… '_Both_ tribes are werewolves!'  
'By Silvanus!'  
But theirs were not the only objections. The man was suddenly on his feet, trembling as he roared at the woman below him.

'I say _nay_ Kaishas and others with me!'  
'Tailes? what do you speak of?'  
'These mongrels are not welcome! We pure of blood from ages of the change. They are not as we. They will not belong, I will not allow it! I have told the village of their hatred, of what their kind does to we! Believed me our people have. These mongrels will not leave alive, but we shall, with ship _and_ maps.'  
He straightened to stand proudly, clearly expecting her to agree, his smug countenance shattered as Kaishas snorted, springing up to face him.  
'Fool! The charts are mine and I will not see them damaged in the coming conflict.' She turned to them one final time, 'I am sorry, I will not risk this for you.'  
As with that she snatched up the maps and swept out.

Tailes' anger redirected in an instant.  
'You!' he snarled, lunging at Imoen only to meet Khalid's sword. Fritha watched as he struggled a moment, grasping ineffectually at the blade in his chest before slumping forward, twitching slightly as Khalid withdrew his sword.  
Everyone seemed shocked at how quickly he fell, the group just stood staring at his prone form as though half-expecting him to rise again.  
'Until they change… they are just as men…' muttered Dynaheir somewhere behind her, everyone starting as a distant howl broke the stillness.

They poured outside onto the walkway. All around her, howls and snarls seemed to fill the shadows and for the first time she wondered if they would even make it through the night.  
'Come on!' she cried suddenly as the thought of it seized her, clattering down the steps, the others at her heels.

She glanced quickly about the darkened square and had hardly gathered her bearings when a low growl behind her made the hairs on her neck bristle. She whirled, sword held across her just in time to catch the beast's lunge, flying from the shadows under the building to send them both hurtling backwards into the square.  
'Hel- pleas-' she gasped, winded as she was slammed onto the packed earth, twisting beneath the creature as jaws flashed just inches from her face. A roar somewhere above and another collided with them, the solid figure of Minsc barrelling into the beast to knock it off her, the others rushing in to finish it.

'Are you okay?' asked Imoen reaching down a hand to help her up.  
She just nodded, still trying to catch her breath as she straightened, heart trembling in her chest. Another sound behind her and she was swinging round, her sword high when Imoen screamed and a familiar voice cried, 'Fritha!'  
She stopped just in time, but couldn't quite bring herself to lower the weapon as she stared up into the shocked white face of Durlyle.

'Please, Fritha, it is fine,' he soothed, gently pushing her blade down as he stepped closer, 'I did not know she was to do this… that- that we people could do this…'  
'Durlyle…' she choked out, her fear and relief mixing to make her feel suddenly tearful. He smiled, pulling her into a quick but tight embrace, the strength of it bringing her round slightly as they parted.  
'They always spoke of the other tribe's violence,' he said, shaking his head darkly, 'how easily they justify their own…'  
He paused a moment, eyes studying her in the gloom before he continued with a sudden urgency, taking her hand to pull her with him. 'Come. I know of a passage kept from the others, from the time before. It leads straight to the cove of the ship. Come, there is no time.'

She raced after him, the others close behind, seeing an attack in every shadow as they ran northwards out of the square, cutting east before the fields and up the steps of another large wooden hut, built to rest against the cliffs. Inside, it was lain out similar to Kaishas' hut though no one appeared to live there; rough chests and baskets lining the walls while rush matting covered the floor. Durlyle moved over to the far wall, feeling slowly along the wooden panels as the others filed in behind her, Minsc turning to bar the door.

'Here,' he finally grunted, fitting his fingers behind a panel and sliding a whole section back with some force to reveal a heavy granite door, 'this leads all the way to the cove, just head downwards.'  
He twisted a nearby torch bracket and the stone slid aside, smoothly mechanical, opening to a dim rock passageway. The rest of them were already through and herself half-turned to go when he caught her sleeve. Fritha spun back to face him, the sound of movement outside panicking her.  
'Come on! We don't-'

She stopped dead. One look at his face and it was as though an icy fist had closed around her stomach. He reached a hand down to brush a few stray hairs from her face, smiling gently.  
'I would I could have met you sooner.'  
'Durlyle?'  
She sense Imoen at her back, the rest of them crowding behind her in the gloom of the passage, questioning the delay.  
'I will hold them here,' he said to someone behind her, as the cabin door rattled violently in its frame, 'get to the ship, there is still time.'  
'What?' she shouted, struggling to free herself from the hand that suddenly grasped her belt, pulling her backwards thorough the doorway, 'no!'  
He stooped slightly and she quietened as his face grew closer, the warm eyes sad.

'They are my people, it should be me. Goodbye Fritha.'  
He leant in, the briefest touch of lips on her forehead and he was gone, straightening just in time to face the two werewolves that burst through in a hail of splintering wood.  
He didn't look back. Just twisted the bracket one final time and smoothly the door slid shut

Frithastood, not moving, not speaking. In that tunnel, so bare and silent, the world could have been a dream.  
Just stood staring at the point on that cold soulless stone where he had been, the desire to scream and claw him back quivering inside her. She turned suddenly, unable to stand the sight of it a moment longer and was almost surprised to find them behind her, all waiting, as silent as she.  
All waiting on her.

'Ri_ght_-' her voice lurched, the lump in her throat distorting the words. She sucked in a sharp breath steeling herself; there was no time!  
'Right. I'll take point, Imoen you're with me, keep an eye out for traps. You too, Jaheira, and Dynaheir, let's have some light.'

They raced through passage after passage, always deeper, the walls becoming damper as they ran. Fritha dragged them on, a stitch screaming in her side, every fork in the tunnel a split second decision that left her with the growing worry she could be leading them to their doom.

And suddenly they were out. The unexpected space surprising Fritha so, she stopped dead, skidding on the sandy ground as Jaheira barrelled into the back of her. A small cove opened out before them, the moonlight streaming in to highlight the ship moored at its centre. Relief flooded her and for a moment it was all she could do to stand, Jaheira catching her arm as she swayed slightly. But then she saw her, and the world fell away…

Fritha stood, every fibre of her being focused on the small figure that was trimming the rigging, the light from her lantern winking merrily. A great swell of rage roared within her as she watched the architect of all this horror calmly preparing the ship for launch, and before she could even think, she had shaken off Jaheira's hand and was stalking towards the gangplank, heart thudding in time to her footsteps.

Her feet made no sound on the smooth wood of the deck and it wasn't until she was right behind Kaishas that the woman noticed and, startled, spun to face her.  
'Wha-?'  
_SLAP  
_  
The woman stumbled backwards into the mast, a hand gingerly clasped to the livid marks now on her cheek.  
'Why? WHY?' Fritha demanded, shaking and flushed, 'half the island is dead! And for what? We only wanted to leave!'  
Kaishas eyed her coldly.  
'We all do as we must. I for mine and you for yours. Here, though you may be, but alone. And stop me, you will not.'  
'She is _not_ alone.'  
She didn't need to turn to recognise the sharp voice, and the look of dawning horror on Kaishas' pale face said more than could have even been expressed.  
'You can never belong,' the woman snarled with sudden defiance, 'you must die!'

She went to lunge at her, a hand already clawed and ready. But Fritha did not flinch, did not even move, the arrow that whistled past her so close it stirred the curls at her ear. Kaishas' eyes went wide, an awful rasping breath leaving her as she stumbled forward, the arrow straight through her throat, before she sank to her knees and finally died.

'F-Fritha.' Stuttered a voice behind her and she glanced back to see Khalid hurrying towards her, bow in hand, looking quickly from her to the woman. 'Child…'  
She made no answer though, returning her gaze to the lifeless body, memorising the way her face looked as the bruise darkened on her cheek.  
'Are you okay?' Imoen asked in a small voice, stepping up beside her looking as pale as Khalid.  
Fritha shrugged, pushing her hair out of her eyes and finding her cheek wet.  
It took her a moment to realise she'd been crying.  
She turned from the girl, unable to stand the concern in her eyes a moment longer, and reached down to cast off.  
On waters as still as her heart, they set sail.

At first, there was numbness, summoned from whatever depths even _she_ kept disciplined. The wind was against them and all hands were needed on that tiny vessel, the hours of mindless tacking blending into one. But at last, a stiff westerly picked up, driving them steadily eastwards and after that…  
Gods…

Sorrow. Sorrow without measure, and all the curses and prayers in the world could not bring him back.


	17. Endings

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Baldur's Gate', the 'Forgotten Realms' or any characters therein. Wizards of the Coast do, at my last check. Lucky them.  
I do, however, own Fritha and certain other characters and plot points. Basically, if you don't recognise it from the game, it's probably mine.

xxx

Thank you to everyone got this far, especially to those of you who took the time to review. And lastly, thanks to my beta, Drew, who put up with the tantrums and my unreasonable demands for literary critic ("_Nice_? What do you mean it's _nice_?") with his usual good-humour.

– Blackcross & Taylor

**Endings**

Fritha lay on her back watching high cotton-wisp clouds change overhead. The sea was a dark iron grey that morning, mirroring the sky and her feelings in a way that was almost comforting. That first night on the ship she had been aware of nothing, sobbing in the hold until she had fallen asleep, and the next day or so were spent much the same, lain on her cloak in the gloom, drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness. But the constant fretting of the others finally drove her from her bed and the last couple of days had seemed timeless, Fritha just spending her days on deck, sometimes crying but mostly just sat, staring out at a world that felt distant and unreal. She turned slightly to catch a glimpse of the land that seemed to grow larger and more defined every time she saw it. They were due in Ulgoth's Beard that evening, would deliver the papers to Mendas and then it would all be over, the whole affair just another memory. Just like so many others.  
Was there even a difference anymore, between the ones that she killed and the ones that just died because of her?

She sprang up suddenly, marching smartly to the prow as though to leave those thoughts where she had lain. Just stood there, the ship rolling beneath her, eyes fixed on the dark land of the horizon as the wind whipped her hair about her in a storm of copper.  
It would be a mass of knots later when she went to comb it through…  
She crumpled down where she stood, suddenly unable to muster the energy to even stand as another wave of misery threatened to engulf her. Pulling her knees to her chest, her eyes fell on the bag that lay next to her on the smooth deck, the stem of belladonna still entwined about the strap, brown and crumbling-

_And dead… Just like- _

'Fritha?'  
She glanced up, quickly turning away again as she felt the tears fall, Dynaheir just a blur in the cabin hatch.  
'Child… would thou like something to eat? Or drink perhaps? Jaheira hath prepared some tea…'  
Fritha shook her head; she had not eaten for days and they all knew it, but what was hunger now? Rations had been limited, the ship only carrying the supplies Kaishas had stowed and what they had brought with them, and there had seemed little point in wasting them.  
But the mage did not leave at her refusal, walking over to sit gracefully beside her with a sigh. Unconcerned, it seemed, by the rolling of the ship, though she looked a little pale.

'I know how such things can hurt, child. But this will help nothing.'  
Fritha said nothing, and after a moment the woman continued, her eyes looking out to the horizon, distant and sad.  
'When I was but a girl, before I joined the Wychlaran, there was a boy on the neighbouring farm, Karov, who I did love-'  
'I did not love him.'  
'Fritha… child…' Dynaheir said softly, turning to her, the woman's full lips pressed into a thin pale line.  
But Fritha ignored her, shaking her head. She did not love him, she could not have, and no one was going to convince her otherwise.  
'What of you and Karov?'  
Dynaheir watched her face a moment longer before sighing, a shadow passing across her eyes.

'He- he went out to gather the herds from the hills one day, to bring them down to lower pastures for the winter, he never returned.'  
'I am sorry,' Fritha said finally, and she was too; though she was no less pained by her own grief, she should not forget others had lost too.  
Dynaheir smiled slightly, laying a gentle hand upon her knee.  
'I know it seems endless, child, as though thou will mourn forever. But time will pass and thy heart shall heal.'

Fritha shrugged indifferently, turning her gaze back to the sea, not sure she much cared if it did or not. One day of happiness had been transformed into something she felt she could easily lament for the rest of time; she didn't think much of the trade.

xxx

Imoen pulled her cloak about her more tightly and shifted further back into the hatchway to find shelter from the stiff breeze, watching in the lamplight as Minsc and Jaheira adjusted the sails, Khalid at the rudder. Neither their shouts nor the cool dusk air doing anything to stir the girl stood at the opposite end of the deck, her eyes fixed on the horizon as the boat sailed slowly into Ulgoth's Cove.

Imoen closed her eyes as another gust of wind swept about her, bringing a splash of icy spray with it. Dynaheir had left to speak with Fritha that morning but had returned soon after, alone and discouraged, and the group was still discussing what was to be done an hour later when, out of the blue, Fritha had appeared on the ladder, walking over to causally sit down next to Minsc and ask if anyone had anything she could eat. Imoen had been sure that her appearance was a sign she was feeling better and had tried to speak with her once everyone had stopped offering her food, but it was not the same as it had been.

Fritha had talked readily, had even smiled now and then, and not great false beaming smiles either, but slight ones that came through her sadness rather than tried to mask it. And yet, something still hung between them, something Imoen couldn't quite put her finger on. She watched her friend now, stood gazing out from the prow as usual, barely more than a silhouette in the twilight. They had both seen much during those past few months and grown because of it. But this last episode had aged Fritha beyond her reaching and Imoen knew that their relationship would never quite be the same again.

The girl sighed, letting her gaze drift past her friend to the docks that were now just visible, her eyes catching on a rippling green shape, which grew more defined with every moment until the realisation struck her. It was Mendas.  
How he knew they would be arriving then, she could not fathom, but there he was, stood on the wharf, the breeze pulling at his robes as he waited for them to dock. He caught the rope Khalid threw to him, tying it to one of the many rings that lined the quay and waiting anxiously for them to drop and descend the gangplank. He stared about at them all and Imoen could see questions burning behind his eyes though he seemed to master himself at the last moment.

'I see you have returned; I had not expected you back so soon.'  
'We have journals and artefacts from the wreck,' began Jaheira, holding out a bound sample of the documents, 'and also an account of Balduran and what became of his final voyage.'  
But the man merely stared down at the journals she proffered him, his look unreadable.  
'Indeed… no doubt you have much to report, pray come to my home that we may discuss such in peace.'

They followed him along the docks, skirting the outside of the village to come to a small hut just on the edge of the boundary, its windows bright and welcoming and somehow filling Imoen with an even greater sense of dread. If Mendas was a scholar, he was unlike one she had ever met. The sages in Candlekeep would have been falling over themselves to get their hands on anything to do with their line of research and the man's indifference was unnerving. She glanced to Fritha to see if she had noticed too, but the girl was giving no more away than he; her face expressionless beneath her hood.

'Here we are,' a voice ahead called out and Imoen turned back just in time to be ushered inside, the door opening straight onto the main room and she could not help but stop and stare about her. The room was almost bare barring two rickety old sofas and a dusty bookcase against the far wall.  
'Move on now, child,' said Dynaheir from the doorway behind her and Imoen remembered herself, following Fritha to pick her way through the mess of papers and cloth that strewed the floor, settling next to her friend on a faded sofa and trying to ignore the musty smell that emanated from it.  
'Please forgive the mess,' Mendas began once they had all found a seat, Khalid and Minsc settled on the floor. 'My research leaves me little time to keep house. And as for your findings, perhaps you had better explain from the beginning.'

And so they obliged him, Jaheira taking up the narration and allowing the others comment with only the slightest hint of impatience, though no one saw fit to correct her highly abridged ending.

'I see…' said Mendas finally after a long silence, rising stiffly to place the journals they'd delivered onto the bookcase behind him, these new additions practically the only books on it. 'So you have all been infected with lycanthropy, have you? Interesting, very interesting. They must have thought very highly of you…'  
'That may well as be,' said Jaheira brusquely, clearly annoyed that he did not seem to be taking their predicament seriously, 'but have you any idea how we may exact a cure?'  
'A cure? Well, by the consumption of a certain plant, atropa belladonna. A hardy perennial of the order Solanaceae, dark indigo flowers… they were rare, but not unheard of where I am from.'

'Just that? Just eat some herb?' cried Imoen, glancing round at them all and Fritha snorted at some private joke.  
'You say it so lightly, child,' Mendas continued, turning away from her to absently run a finger along the dusty shelf, 'the plant is poisonous. But that hardly matters in itself, for the other thing that must be done is to kill the head werewolf; an even more dangerous undertaking.'  
'Then we shall have to find Kaishas' mate,' Jaheira confirmed with a frown, 'what was his name?'  
'_Selaad_…' a familiar voice ground out next to her and Imoen felt her heart stop as she watched Fritha stand and silently draw her sword. Slowly Imoen returned her gaze to the scholar, now hunched over the bookcase and trembling as he continued, his voice barely more than a growl.  
'You killed her… you killed her, but she will be avenged!'

He whirled, already half changed, but Fritha seemed ready for it, leaping up onto the sofa where Imoen was still sat, the girl shifting her weight to tip it backwards, and Imoen watched from the floor as the momentum drove Fritha forward, pushing her sword straight through his chest and pinning him to the bookcase behind. He struggled a moment, trying to claw ineffectually at her with human hands, Fritha holding his face roughly forcing him to look at her, when at last he slumped forward and died.  
The room was silent, everyone stunned by the ferocity of her attack and Imoen rising to stand next to her as the girl removed her sword with some difficultly, his body collapsing instantly to the floor.

'Did- did you know he was Selaad?' Imoen breathed, but Fritha just shrugged and said nothing, merely wiping her sword on the fallen sofa before sheathing it to move outside.

They filed out after her in silence, walking the short way across the village to take rooms at the inn, Fritha's request for a bath being ruefully refused.  
'I'm sorry, love,' the old inkeep sighed, 'I mean there's a washroom at the end of the hall, but we don't have the staff for carrying the water up from the kitchens. There are a couple of attic rooms plumbed into the catchall on the roof, but they're already booked out by some nobles on their way to Durlag's Tower.'

She had nodded politely and made no more comment, but the girl, miserable as she was, seemed to gain some sympathy with the old couple; the landlord's wife ushering her into the kitchens after they had closed and preparing her the old tin bath in front of the dying hearth as she had done for her boys when they were small. They were all gathered together again now, late though it was, sat about a table in the empty common room talking things over; Fritha alone even when surrounded, ignoring them in favour of rooting silently through her bag.

'We were nothing but couriers,' said Jaheira with a shake of her head, 'they cared nothing for the wreck. Selaad wanted the sea charts taken to Kaishas, that she could navigate back safely with the clan.'  
'Kaishas didn't know he'd changed his name though,' Imoen said, grinning humourlessly, 'I bet she could hardly believe her luck when we turned up with a set.'  
'So this lycanthropy truly was a gift,' sighed Dynaheir, 'but time, at least, is our ally. The moon will not wax full for another fortnight.'  
'And the head werewolf part of it's no longer an issue,' continued Imoen, looking about at them all with tired eyes, 'but where are we going to get some, what was it, atripa-?'  
'Atropa belladonna,' corrected Jaheira with a sigh, 'we could try the local apothecary, but…'  
She trailed off as Fritha straightened from her rummaging to toss a square of folded parchment onto the table before them.  
'It's belladonna tea. Dradeel gave it to me. I'll go and fetch some water.'

And with that, she rose and was gone, Dynaheir standing quickly to follow her as Jaheira reached across the table to take up the yellowing packet.  
'So he sent some with us,' she murmured, half to herself as she fingered the parchment, 'he must have worried they would do this.'  
'P-Perhaps he was not as addled as he seemed.'  
Imoen snorted her dissent; it seemed the blame for her post-potion hangover was still lingering over the mage, but any further comment was cut short as Fritha returned to the table, a large ceramic teapot in hand.

'Is that the water?' asked Imoen, and the girl nodded setting it on the table before them as Dynaheir followed to hand out the cups.  
'Take some and pass it along,' Jaheira continued with a nod to the packet she had just handed to Fritha, working her way around the table, steaming filling the air as she poured water in to the cups. The girl made no reply, but complied, carefully unfolding the thick paper to take a large pinch of the dark leaves within and moving to add them to her cup, Khalid's hand catching her wrist just in time.  
'Perhaps not so much, eh, dearest?'  
She stared down at him, her look unreadable though she let a few leaves flutter through her fingers, replacing the rest to pass the packet on, before taking up her cup and wordlessly leaving the room.

xxx

Imoen awoke slowly, peeling her tongue from the roof of her mouth and sitting with some difficulty. She had retired soon after Fritha, not wanting her friend to be alone as the tea took effect and they had lain together in the gloom, suddenly exhausted but unable to sleep as they'd shivered and sweated, Imoen's heart trembling in her chest with frightening speed as waves of nausea passed over her. It must have been past midnight when she'd finally passed out, the only thing awakening her now, the thirst that scored her throat with every breath.

She sighed, glancing to the bed beside her and it was only then she noticed Fritha had gone. Her heart stopped and she was frantically casting about for her friend only to find her a second later, sat on the bench beneath the window in just her slip, so still she could have been made of stone. Moonlight was pouring over her, draining the colour from her form and she looked small and frail as she stared out over the sleeping world.

'Fritha?' she ventured quietly, worried of starting her, but the girl didn't flinch and Imoen sighed. 'Fritha, would you like to talk about it?'  
Finally, she turned to her and shrugged mildly, her voice quiet and even as she answered.  
'What is there to say? These last few months have been so awful; I just don't think I can stand anymore.'  
Imoen pressed her lips together and closed her eyes a moment, the sense of helplessness almost too much to bear.  
'Do you miss Durlyle?' she asked finally, dreading the answer, but Fritha merely frowned slightly and shook her head.  
'Imoen…' she sighed, turning away from her to rest her head against the window frame. 'I wasn't in love with him, we were hardly together a day. No, it's not that, but…'  
She paused, turning back to her to take her hand, frowning again as though she was explaining something Imoen was having trouble understanding.  
'He's dead, Imoen… He didn't deserve to die, none of them did, but it came for them… Durlyle, Delthyr, Gorion, and who knows how many others who could have seen another dawn if not for me.'

'You can't be blaming yourself?' she cried angrily, snatching back her hand in her dismay, but Fritha just shrugged.  
'Why not? They died because I was there, because something wanted me dead and they decided to intervene.'  
'Fritha… I know things seem bad now, with the war and the assassinations, but things will be different after Sarevok is gone.'  
Fritha smiled faintly and Imoen felt suddenly cold.  
'Will they?'  
'What do you mean?'  
'That perhaps this is something that I carry with me; Sarevok is certainly a part of what has happened since we left Candlekeep, but what if the only reason we are caught up in things is because of what I am.'

Fritha turned back to the window again, though her eyes were looking at something far beyond the sleeping village.  
'I can feel it sometimes, inside, pulling me to do things; perhaps it calls to others too, attracts people like Sarevok, ones so bent on murder and destruction. Or perhaps it just pulls at the devastation itself, I don't know.'  
'So what will you do?'  
'After all this is over?' she confirmed, glancing back to Imoen as though almost surprised to find her there. 'I'll visit Candlekeep and try to make my peace with them. And then… Then, I don't know, just go away for a while, I suppose.'  
Imoen just stood staring at her; she was really going to do it, really going to leave them all. Before everything was 'they', no girl more likely to go without the other, than they would leave without their own feet. But things had changed, and Imoen felt her throat tighten as she ventured in barely more than a whisper, 'can I come with you?'

Fritha glanced to her and Imoen could feel her weighing it up, the pain of leaving everyone behind, the fear for her friend and what her blood could bring for them, when suddenly she smiled wryly and shook her head, her teeth bright in the gloom.  
'Would I have any choice?'  
Imoen laughed wetly, Fritha's unspoken acceptance making her suddenly tearful.  
'Course not!'

xxx

They had sat in the grey morning stillness for another hour or so, just talking quietly of nothing in particular, before crawling back into bed and sleeping until the mid-morning when Jaheira came to get them up. The group buying what replacement supplies the local store held before setting out southwards to Baldur's Gate for that third and final time.

It was late afternoon now, the sun gold on the wheat fields and a sense of hope in the air as they walked, the city only a few hours away after the two-day journey from Ulgoth's beard. It was midsummer in three days time and Fritha felt as though every moment in her life had been building to that moment. No one had slept well the night in the inn; Khalid and Dynaheir still feeling the effects of the poison into the next day as they'd set off for the city, and all were tired.

But as the day wore on, Fritha found herself feeling better. There was some sort of end in sight now; they would reach the city and expose Sarevok, averting the war. Or they would not.  
And Fritha would leave with Imoen and they would walk east until Baldur's Gate sounded as distant as Rashemen did now. Her grief was fading too; things growing easier with each day. She had even worried a little that it had all become too painless, but in her heart she doubted it would ever be so, and that in itself was a comfort.

They made camp in the forest north of the city that night, no one really ready for sleep as they sat about a small fire, talking quietly of times past and the cool grey dawn found them walking the last few miles to the city to stop at the forest's edge, alert and ready.

'Right,' began Imoen as they all huddled together in the undergrowth, glimpses of the great stone walls filtering through the trees. 'The guards change shifts at first bell and so we've a short period where we can make it to the moat without being spotted from the walls. We're heading for the old sewer outflow. Niklos told me they think it's welded shut, but the guild's been down since and opened it up again; as long as I can pick the lock, we can get in.'  
Jaheira nodded.

'Good, once inside we head straight for the Iron Throne. I doubt we will be able to talk our way through this time though, so be prepared for the worst.'  
Somewhere far-off a lone bell sounded. Fritha swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.  
'It's time.'

They flew half-crouched across the open field, Minsc slipping down the bank to wade into the moat, the filthy water up to his chest as he carried Imoen across on his shoulders.  
'Oh Gods, it reeks,' she moaned looking as though she would faint as she clambered from him to cling to the grill, her free hand fumbling over the lock.  
Finally the grate swung open with a shriek that made Fritha start, glancing fearfully to the walls above before stepping forward onto Minsc's shoulders, allowing Imoen to help her across, Jaheira and Khalid stooping to help Minsc up once they were all inside.  
Imoen closed the grate behind them. They had done it. They were in.

Those first few moments were awful, Fritha having to fight the urge to gag, the air close about them, so fetid she could taste it. They had all tied some scarf or cloth about their faces in an effort to fend off the smell, though Fritha had her doubts as to the difference it made. Imoen led them onwards though, wading through the knee-deep sewage, carefully counting her paces and pausing now and then, her eyes closed as she built a mental image of where they were on the surface.

She was checking as such now, clinging to the slimy rung of an access ladder, her head straining up to a narrow grate set in the tunnel roof, glimpses of the world above filtering through.

'I think we've gone too far,' the girl sighed, hopping down to rejoin them, 'I can hear the praying in the temple of Tymora. Come on.'  
She started back the way they had come and they followed her, taking the next right turn and walking until they reached another junction.  
'Right or straight ahead?' asked Jaheira, peering along each tunnel in turn, but Imoen shook her head with a frown.  
'Well, it should just be- what's that?'

Imoen took a tentative step into the right tunnel, pointing up to a circular metal disk set in the curving roof above her. She glanced back to them and shrugged, none the wiser, before climbing up the ladder in the wall beside it to gently lift the edge and put an ear to the gap.  
'What do you hear?'  
'Nothing,' she said eventually, pushing the cover across and a perfect circle of light split the gloom. 'Shall we?'

Fritha was the first to follow her, crawling through the hole to find herself on a neatly tiled stone floor, the architecture of the room about her eerily familiar.  
'Is this…?' came Khalid's voice behind them and Imoen pulled the scarf from her face, grinning.  
'The basement of the Iron Throne? I think so. And it seems like we aren't the only ones using the sewers. Or at least they _were_,' she added, glancing about the empty room, marks on the floor showing where crates and barrels must have once stood, 'the place looks deserted.'

They found the stairs just outside the door, meeting not a soul as they travelled up through the kitchens and on into the entrance hall, retracing their steps from there to the fifth floor, that storey just as every other, empty and abandoned. They fanned out, checking each room in pairs until Dynaheir's call drew them to an office in the back, the desk inside covered in neat stacks of paper.

'It seems Sarevok is careless in his arrogance,' she commented dryly, handing a bounty notice to the newly arrived Fritha with a smile. The girl glanced over it, the words familiar to her by now, though the date was a surprise, Imoen peering over her shoulder to voice her thoughts.  
'27th Tarsakh… So it _was_ the Iron Throne after all! They sent the bounty hunters after you from the beginning. But why? Look, there's more.'

That was a slight understatement. The desk was covered in bounty notices and letters detailing iron levels and troop movements. Khalid found evidence that Sarevok had hired assassins to kill one of the Grand Dukes, Entar Silvershield, and poison Eltan, and Imoen was well-rewarded for disarming the complicated trap on his desk drawer.

'Hey,' she breathed, glancing up from the slim volume she'd found within, 'you'll _never_ guess what this is.'  
'What have you discovered?' came Jaheira's voice behind them, attention still focused on the parchment in her hands.  
'It's only Sarevok's _diary_!'  
'He kept a diary?' Fritha cried, unable to keep the incredulity from her voice as she imagined him hunched over the book on an evening, making note of worries and plans… just as she did.  
'Yeah, I know,' Imoen agreed, starting to giggle at the disbelief on her face. 'If Sarevok was going to keep a diary, it should at least be a fake one, to throw people off the scent. Like, "17th Alturiak 1368, I _didn't_ poison an iron mine in Nashkel today, as part of my ongoing plan to incite war between Amn and Baldur's Gate." See, cunning eh?'  
But Jaheira clearly didn't think so.

'Stop your foolishness and give it here,' she snapped, snatching it from her to flip to the back, her eyes flying over the last few entries. 'Listen. Entar is dead and Eltan soon to follow-' Imoen held up the relevant letters with a wan smile, '-and yet the fools welcome me in with open arms. I will bide my time with them as I did with _father_ and soon my blood shall have the recognition it deserves…'  
Jaheira shook her head, leafing bewilderedly through the rest, 'there is more, all the way through, talk of blood and dreams.'

'He's a child of Bhaal,' said Fritha at last; suddenly very interested in the paper-strewn desk as she felt all eyes turn to her.  
'What? How could you-?'  
'I just know,' she said with finality, gathering up the papers before her. 'Come, there's only one person we can show these too now.'

xxx

Imoen squinted slightly in the glare of the surface, eyes scanning over the tall solid bailey that housed the Flaming Fist headquarters; her gaze passing over the guards that manned the gate before shifting to the shaded alley along the building's right, lingering on the red flutter of curtains at an open window two floors above the street.

'Can you see anyone?' came a voice behind her and Imoen took one last glance about the sunlit square before she lowered the grate and hopped from the ladder back into the gloom of sewer tunnel, her friend's eyes bright in the darkness.  
'No, the alley's empty and Eltan's window's definitely open.'  
'And I am not surprised,' sighed Dynaheir, leaning against Minsc in the stifling air of the tunnel, clearly wilting, 'it is hot now the sun has risen.'  
'What do you think?' continued Fritha, and though Imoen could not see her mouth for the scarf she was wearing, she could tell her lips would be a thin pressed line. She shrugged.  
'Well, the drainpipe looks a bit rusty, but it should hold. Have you got the papers?'  
Fritha nodded, pushing a hand into her bag to withdraw a sheaf of tightly rolled parchment.  
'Here, those should be enough to raise suspicion, we'll keep the rest down here in case…'  
She trailed off and Imoen could tell it was torture for her, sending her off alone, but greater things were at stake here.  
'I'll be fine.' Imoen reassured and her friend nodded, her voice quiet.  
'Yes, I know.'

People were milling about the nearby streets, hanging up flowered garlands and doing last minute shopping ready for the midsummer celebrations of the following day, the threat of a coming war seeming to do little to discourage them, and no one noticed the young woman as she clung to the drainpipe two storeys above the city. Imoen paused to draw a deep lungful of clean air, glad to be out of the sewers even with what she would soon be facing. The window was only a few feet above her now and she climbed the rest of the way to step carefully on to the sill, trying to ignore the fact she was smearing both the ledge and the curtains in filth.

Eltan was laid in the bed looking drawn and thin, dark shadows under his eyes and beard unkempt, his armour resting on a stand nearby, a silent testament to the man he had once been. In the chair opposite, a robed man sat, his Calimshite heritage marking him as Rashad, Eltan's healer. He, like his patient, appeared to be dozing, though he started to his feet as she dropped lightly from the sill, his dark eyes flashing beneath a heavy black brow.

'Who are you? What are you doing here?'  
'Please, I have to speak with the Duke. I know who poisoned him, it was Sarevok, we've got the evidence,' she cried, almost dropping the papers in her haste to push them into his hands, 'we got the evidence for it all.'  
He glanced from her to the letters, astounded, before a smile spread slowly across his face and Imoen felt her heart stop as his dark eyes flashed silver.  
'Impressive, truly impressive,' he laughed and she began to edge back towards the open window. 'But it was a mistake to come here. Let us see you escape one who was born an assassin.'

He lunged at her, hands suddenly long and clawed and Imoen screamed, jumping back to pull the armour stand across his path with an almighty crash. Instantly the door flew open, two mercenaries appearing with swords drawn and before she knew it the creature was dead at their feet; a doppelganger.

'Wh- who…' sighed a voice and Imoen glanced to the bed, Eltan woken by the noise and struggling to sit. She flew to his side, pouring him some water and drenching the dresser in her haste. He stared up at her, his brow furrowed when realisation seemed to dawn behind his eyes.  
'Angelo… bring me Angelo,' he croaked, only accepting the cup once sure his orders were being carried out, the guards sharing a dark look and disappearing at his word.

She held the water to his lips and Eltan drank thirstily before sinking back with a sigh, his eyes closed even as he spoke to her.  
'I am in your debt, child, but there is more I must ask of you. Liia and Belt, the other Grand Dukes, are in danger as I was.'  
He grabbed her arm suddenly, making her jump, his eyes watering from the effort.  
'You must take the evidence to them! Sarevok is being sworn in as a Grand Duke at this moment. Take my invitation, it is on the dresser behind you, and this,' he added, slipping a ring from his thin finger and pressing it into her hand, 'disrupt the ceremony, you must make them see.' He trailed off with a sigh, sinking back onto the pillows, the grip relaxing on her arm.

Just a moment to push the invitation and ring into her bag and she was off, passing Angelo and the returning guards in the corridor. The captain was pale but defiant, marching with a solider either side of him, his sword, she noted, removed and being carried by one of them. He glanced disdainfully to her as they passed, and she would have liked to shout something after him. But her anger made her tongue-tied, the door shut before she could comment and she was suddenly flying down the stairs, determined to stop Sarevok if it was the last thing she did.

xxx

Imoen returned after what felt like hours in that dim stinking tunnel. Everyone crowding about her pale form, fussing until she managed to convince them she was fine, relating her findings with breathless haste.

'Today? They're swearing in him _today_?' Fritha confirmed, the feeling that someone greater than they wanted this war stopped creeping over her.  
'Yeah, that was what he was going on about in his diary, them welcoming him in. They're making him a Grand Duke of all things! Eltan said the ceremony's already started.'  
Jaheira nodded her face set.  
'Well, lead on then.'

The Ducal palace was at the opposite end of the city, but Imoen was used to the sewers now, barely hesitating at the junctions to decided their path and Fritha could not help but be amazed by her sense of direction even down there.

'Here,' she finally cried, stopping at one of the many sewer grates, the world above them bustling by oblivious. 'This should bring us out by the Blushing Mermaid. Everyone ready?'  
A grim nod travelled the group and Imoen nodded too, stepping up on to the first rung and pushing open the grate before disappearing in to the sunlight.  
Fritha felt very aware of herself as they crawled from the grate to gather on the kerb. In any other circumstances she would have been mortified, people openly staring, a couple of drunks outside the pub shouting to them as they passed. But she ignored them, all her focus on trying to control the anger that welled in her as she thought of Sarevok, of all he had put them through.

The palace was just around the corner, the architecture impressive even as it was welcoming, a stern father to the city, and they walked up as a group, the guard outside smiling as they approached.

'Afternoon there, you're a touch late; I think they've already started. Can I see your- oh, by Tempus' he suddenly cried, clamping a hand over his nose and staring appalled at the filth that caked their legs, 'what in the Hells have you been wading through?'  
'You wish to see our invitation?' cried Fritha impatiently, thrusting the paper at him, 'here!'  
He snatched it from her and took a step back, eyes flying over it suspiciously.  
'Well, this all looks to be in order, but I can't just-'  
'Do you know what this is?' snapped Jaheira, closing the space between them, and holding out her hand. He faltered slightly but made no further retreat as his eyes stared with disbelief at the fat gold signet ring.  
'It- it's-'  
'It is the Ducal seal given to us by Eltan,' she supplied, looking commanding and magnificent in her anger, 'we bear a vital message for the Grand Dukes, now let us pass!'  
'R-Right away, m'lady.'

They filed in, through the entrance hall and on into one of the adjoining chambers, the room light and long; house banners hanging from the rafters, the nobles milling beneath just as colourful. They moved further into the room, the way clearing before them, many of the guests looking round with clear disgust though they were too polite to say anything as Sarevok appeared on the dais.

Fritha stared up at him, the man who had made her life nothing short of Hell for the past few months. She had thought this confrontation would awake in her an anger she could barely control, but suddenly she felt nothing for him. He looked the part, the young duke; shaggy black hair combed neatly back, grey eyes surveying the crowd as he stood up there in fine clothes, the ornamental breastplate he wore glinting in the torchlight. He could never have been called handsome, but his presence was striking and she noticed at least a few of the attending nobles probably wouldn't have minded him as a son-in-law. An amusing thought really, since at this moment in time, they would rather see their entire houses fall than take her on as a daughter. The world was an odd place.

xxx

Imoen glanced about her quickly, the room lined with guards, both palace and Flaming Fist, and she knew any mistake there and it would all be over. It had seemed so simple when Eltan had told her. Just go and disrupt the ceremony. But now they were there, surrounded by guards, the man who had engineered this plot stood proudly on the dais and talking quietly with the other dukes, the question of how was her main concern.

Imoen glanced across to Fritha, more than worried as she noticed the girl quietly snickering away to herself, but it was too late to speak with her now, a hush falling as Sarevok stepped up to the podium.

'I am honoured to be here among such respected noblemen and accept my new position with full awareness of my responsibilities. The rumours of Amn's mobilisation for war as aided by their Zhentarim allies are, I am sad to report, entirely true, though we ourselves are not unprepared! Beregost is fully fortified with two garrisons of the Flaming Fist and our city has also begun to take measures. Amn's recent attempts at depriving us of the most valuable war resource, iron, may have weakened us, but we are not defeated yet! The Iron Throne has stock piles of iron, more than will be needed, which I now put at the disposal of the city, to use as you see fit.'

He bowed slightly, but the dip of his head could not hide his smile as applause roared though the hall. Imoen felt a fierce anger flare inside her. That they could applaud anything that man said, she almost wished to leave them to their fate. She glanced to Fritha to see her anger too, but the girl was merely smiling mildly, clapping along with everyone else, her eyes never leaving the speaker as the noise died down and he began again.

'Indeed, Amn will rue the day they ever considered taking up arms against our fair city! And I would propose that instead of waiting for the war to come to us, we shall take it to them! Have they forgotten Baldur's Gate boasts the greatest mercenary force in all Faerûn? With the Flaming Fist we shall be able to take Nashkel with ease and have the pass through the Cloud Peaks fortified by winter.'

More applause and behind her Jaheira's voice, low and disdainful.  
'Look at them, he offers all they could wish for; a war and one far away from their homes and families as well.'  
But hers was not the only voice of dissent.

'Sarevok,' snapped the lady stood behind him, who Imoen assumed was Liia, her eyes flashing dangerously beneath her greying brow, 'this is not the time to be discussing such matters!'  
But Sarevok merely smiled.  
'Well, when is the time, my esteemed peer? When the Amnian soldiers are battering at our gate? Unfortunately our greatest military commander lies on his death bed, another crime of Amn, but give me command of the Flaming Fist and I swear it shall be the last!'

The applause was almost deafening this time, the surrounding nobles throwing their hands into the air and shouting his name. Imoen turned about to find Fritha in the madness, but she was not longer next to her and it was as she was whirling back that a familiar voice cut clear and ringing through the clamour.

'Your information is a little out of date, Sarevok.'  
'What? Who spoke?' cried Liia and the people pulled back like a tide to reveal Fritha walking up to stop before the podium.  
'Duke Eltan, my lady, he's not dying.' Fritha smiled broadly. 'He's fine.'  
'Fritha!' shouted Sarevok and for the first time real doubt seemed to flash within his eyes. 'That woman is a murderer in the service of Amn, seize her!'  
The Flaming Fist stepped forward but Fritha just stood, staring up at Sarevok, the remaining duke, Belt, marching down from the dais angrily.

'Halt! No one move! This child is under my protection,' he shouted fiercely, glaring about at the surrounding guards, his tone more gentle as he turned back to her friend. 'What are you saying, child?'  
'Eltan was being poisoned by his healer, who was not his healer but a doppelganger in his form,' she explained calmly, turning slightly as though to include them all as she continued, 'a doppelganger in the employ of not Amn, but someone here in the Gate.'  
'Truly?' gasped Liia, stepping forward as well, 'did Eltan tell you who?'  
'Indeed he did, though why listen to me, an Amnian murderer, when you can read written testimony of the man himself.'

Imoen watched as she handed over the papers they had recovered from the Iron Throne.  
Sarevok grew pale.  
'She- they, they are forgeries, anyone could have written them.'  
'How do you know of what I read, Sarevok?' said Belt, smiling faintly before his eyes grew hard. 'Guards, seize him!'  
Sarevok leapt back, viciously pushing the nearest guard off the dais to throw a small stone to the ground, a shimmering portal springing up at his feet.  
'You and I aren't finished yet, Fritha,' he snarled, all pretence dead now, 'I'll kill you, just as I killed Gorion. You'll know no peace while I yet breathe.'  
And he was gone.

Belt dropped immediately to his knees and Fritha whirled, almost expecting to find him injured when she realised he was praying.  
'Do you have the location?' Liia snapped and he nodded once, the woman closing her eyes and Fritha felt magic prickling in the air as the familiar blue dust of teleportation engulfed her.  
'We'll send you after him. Gods' speed, child.'

xxx

The magic faded in the air around them and Fritha found herself staring about a dim low-ceilinged passageway, rotting wooden stairs behind them, the stone walls damp and cool.

'I recognise this place…' breathed Imoen at her side, and all turned to the girl, 'this is the basement of the thieves' guild.'  
'Why would he come here?'  
Imoen shook her head, bewildered  
'I'm not sure. There's a maze beneath the guild, it, it leads to the undercity.'  
'The u-undercity?'  
Imoen's explanation mirrored her thoughts.  
The ruins of an ancient city, built long before the Gate and destroyed by an earthquake years before Balduran was even born. A dead place. Fritha had read about it back at Candlekeep, in another life.

'Could he have gone there?' questioned Jaheira, frowning slightly.  
Imoen shrugged.  
'There seems little point him going up stairs. Come on, the door's just down here.'  
She led them quickly along the hallway past heavy grilled gates, rounding the corner to find a huge stone door at the end of the passage that could have almost blended in with the walls had they not been looking for it.  
'There, I- ' but Imoen stopped dead as a shape stepped out from the shadows before her, Fritha ready to pull her back when the girl suddenly flung herself forward with a cry of 'Niklos!'  
The youth caught her and they embraced tenderly, Imoen unworried, it seemed, by the presence of the rest of them.

'What are you doing here?' she cried as they finally parted, staring up at him with a clear amazement, before she recovered herself. 'Never mind, quick, help me with this door.'  
'I can't, Imoen.'  
'How do you know?' she laughed, tugging his sleeve for him to follow her, 'we haven't even had a look at it yet.'  
But Niklos didn't move.  
'I mean, I won't, Imoen. I have orders to, to stop…'  
He trailed off at the look of dawning realisation on her face, Imoen staring up at him, hurt plain on her features.

'Niklos?' she breathed, before a sudden fury caught her and smacked away the arm that lingered near her. 'You knew! You knew all along he'd put a bounty on us, on my friends, and you were working for him!'  
'It wasn't like that, Imoen,' he cried, taking a step back, his hands held up to placate her, 'I didn't betray you. I was already working for Sarevok when we met, he has the whole guild in his service, though half of them don't know it. That's why we approached you. But I didn't tell them anything, I swear. I didn't make a move on the bounty.'  
Imoen snorted.

'How _noble_ of you.'  
Niklos drew back, stung.  
'I- There is honour among thieves, Imoen.'  
Imoen ignored him though, glaring up at him with her hands on her hips.  
'We need to get by.'  
'I cannot allow that.'  
'Move aside, boy!' snapped Jaheira, stepping up to shove him out the way as she and Dynaheir moved forward to examine the door.  
'There is no point,' he called after them, though there was a slight doubt in his tone. 'The door is sealed with locks devised the best smiths in the guild, it would take an experienced thief hours to pick them.'

'I don't think that'll be too much of a problem,' said Imoen with a cold smile, drawing a large bunch of keys from her bag, his eyes growing wide with alarm.  
Fritha gasped.  
'You _stole_ from him?'  
She didn't want to say any more in front of the others, but she could think of only one occasion where the opportunity for that could have occurred.  
Imoen grinned, her eyes hard  
'It's like he said, honour among thieves.'

She tossed them to Jaheira, the druid catching the keys easily, fumbling through them until finding the correct one, the door swinging open as soon as the lock was turned.  
'Please, Imoen,' he pleaded, gripping her shoulders as she went to move past him, 'you have no idea who he is, of what he can do.'  
She just shook her head though, staring up at him, her eyes sad.  
'No, I do… and that is why I'm going, and if you had the slightest _clue_ you'd be coming with us.'  
She shook him off, Fritha moving to walk beside her, slipping an arm through hers as they followed the others under the dark stone doorway, Niklos' cries drifting after them.

'Imoen, you can't- he'll kill you all…'

xxx

They walked in silence for a long while after, the smooth stone walls of the maze quite a contrast to the damp cellar of before, progress slow as Jaheira checked each step for traps.  
Fritha glanced to the face of her friend, unmarked by tears, though her eyes still remained sad.

'Are you okay?'  
Imoen shrugged, turning to give her a slight smile.  
'Yeah, I'm fine. It wasn't like you and…' she trailed off, shaking herself before continuing briskly, 'well, it wasn't like I was in love with him or anything. It was just, you know, fun. I had planned to give the keys back to him before we left the Gate. He was a laugh, but a bit patronising sometimes. I thought it might knock him down a peg or two, to find out I had hold of them so easily.'  
'Well, you certainly did that!' exclaimed Fritha, as impressed as she was astounded by Imoen's cheek.  
'Yeah,' Imoen agreed, smiling faintly and they walked on in silence, the murmur of the others ahead of them the only sound, before Imoen turned to her again, unusually serious.

'Look, I'm sorry about how things got. It was like he was there and I couldn't even _see_ anyone else.'  
'Yes, and I was so _understanding _about the whole thing,' Fritha shook her head, smiling ruefully, 'it's okay.'  
'No, it wasn't. I was all wrapped up in it and I let it get in the way of more important things.'  
Fritha shrugged.  
'Well, it turned out investigating the Iron Throne wasn't all that important in the long run.'  
'I didn't mean that, you idiot!' Imoen laughed, giving her a shove before continuing, her voice softer, 'I meant us, our friendship.'  
Fritha stood a moment smiling at her before they rushed together, embracing fiercely just as a voice called up ahead.  
'You two, I think we've found the exit.'

The end of the maze was merely a hole in the tunnel wall where the stones had come loose and Fritha stepped out onto an uneven rock plateau, the cavern about them so high she wondered how deep the maze had led them. Before her, the ruins of the city lay, all broken walls and fallen pillars in the same dead shade of grey, the air still and stale.

Fritha let her eyes drift over the ruins before they came to rest in the furthest corner and she knew in that instant where she would find him. Stood next to the cavern wall, tall and imposing and the only building she could see that had managed to remain mostly intact, a great stone skull leering out from the entablature; a temple of Bhaal.

It took no time at all to cross the ruins, the temple never out of sight as they walked the hatching of grey streets, the dust that swirled about them the only sign of life in that dead place. Fritha stared up at the huge stone doors before her. This was it; there was no thought now of leaving, of hiding or fleeing. He would find her. All she could do was enter and meet her fate.  
She turned back to the others, the only colour she could see, and she smiled tentatively.  
'Ready?'

The door moved silently before her hand, and she slipped through as quietly as she could, though she knew there was little need for stealth now. Inside, the walls were the same grey stone and swathed in shadows, a contrast to the blood red tiles that patterned the ground. Columns lined the walls, each a robed man holding a scythe, the skull of Bhaal emblazoned on their chests, though none of this could hold her attention long, for on the dais before the crumbling altar, Sarevok was stood.

No more the fine clothes and ornamental armour; this was the man she remembered from that first night, months ago now, the one who had felled Gorion so easily. She walked up to him, without hesitation, without fear and she could see him smile through the curving teeth of his helmet, almost proudly, as though pleased to see her resolve.

'You have arrived, Fritha,' he confirmed with a nod, 'I was a fool to believe anyone else could have killed you, that this could end in any other way than you and I, here.'  
Fritha stared back, impassive, feeling as though she was watching the whole thing from very far away as she heard herself answer.  
'I have come, as you knew I would, you left me little choice. But before we fight, I must ask you why?'  
'Why?' he repeated, an edge of incredulity creeping into his voice, 'why I sought your death? Why I engineered a war with Amn?'  
Fritha nodded calmly and Sarevok shook his head.

'For power you could only dream of. It would have been foolish to let you live once I realised you were as I. Be proud, Fritha, your death will herald a new age for Faerûn.'  
'With you as its warlord?'  
'With me as its god!' he roared, trembling with the anticipation of it. 'You understand what we are, do you not? Well, I knew long before you and whereas you are happy enough to wander with these lesser mortals, I will accept no less than the divinity I deserve. This war with Amn will provide bloodshed on such as scale as to raise Bhaal's dead powers from the ashes and with the divine blood that flows through my veins, I shall assume control of that which he so carelessly lost! I shall become him, become the Lord of Murder!'

'You- you're mad!' she cried, almost laughing, as amused as she was horrified by the audacity of his plans. 'What sort of god would allow another to take his place so easily?'  
Sarevok frowned and drew his sword.  
'A dead one! If you find him in the afterlife Fritha, give him my regards!'

He leapt from the dais with such speed she had only just enough time to draw her own blade to parry the blow, explosions of light and cries echoing about her as others appeared from nowhere to engage her friends.

Sarevok was circling her hungrily and she kept her sword in a low guard taking a moment to glance over at her friends. She couldn't see Minsc, though she could hear his battle cry even above the clamour. Dynaheir was hidden behind a pillar, eyes unfocused as she chanted while Jaheira and Khalid were as one, fighting through the warriors to reach the enemy mage behind them, Imoen hanging back, trying to get a clear shot at him through the chaos. But they were too late, a shockwave rippling out from him as his spell closed; Jaheira and Khalid stumbling from the force of it, and she felt herself wince as Imoen was thrown to the ground.

But her concern was short-lived, the man before her suddenly roaring, using her moment of distraction to lunge at her, sword held high. Blow upon blow he rained upon her, so heavy they made her hands sting, her arms aching with the force of parrying them and with each one she took another step back, retreating until her shoulders met the temple wall. The man brought his sword up as she did and they locked blades, pinning her there, their swords held across her and poised above her throat.

She tried to see past him to the others, to call for help, but all she could see was his face, so close she felt the spittle fleck her cheek as he ground out, 'I will see the light leave your eyes, Fritha!'  
He was pressing down on her, her arms trembling as she struggled to hold him back, her life racing through behind her eyes, everything playing out before her. From her first memories in the Keep, until that point there and the snarling beast of a face that was pressed so close to hers.

_Just give up… let it end… _her mind coaxed and the temptation just to leave it all was overwhelming. She would see Gorion again, and Durlyle…  
_Give in… _

But what of Imoen and Beth? Jaheira, Khalid, Dynaheir, Minsc? And she had to get over her fear of singing and learn more magic and fall in love. Her mind swimming with the vast potential of it all, of life; every unread book, every boy she'd never kiss.  
'Nu-ugh no!'

A sudden strength surged through her arms and she pushed him back with a jolt, her legs buckling beneath her as she slid down the wall to her knees. Sarevok roared, his blade held above his head, ready to cleave her in two and it was suddenly so simple, the slightest movement to raise her sword and slip it beneath his breastplate. He screamed, spitting up a mouthful of blood that spattered down on her like rain, his sword hitting the ground with a clang and he followed soon after, armour clattering against the stone tiles as he crumpled. And then silence.

She sat, panting, his body lifeless beside her as her friends gathered slowly round, tired and bloody.  
'It's done. It's over.'

xxx

The city was alive with colour. Flags and house banners hung from every window whilst streamers fluttered through the air, clear against the blue summer sky. The bells of the temples peeled out, barely audible over the roar from the crowded streets, packed with people celebrating midsummer and the newfound peace with Amn. Fritha stood at her window in the Elfsong, looking out on the scene. Everyone so happy and safe, unaware of how close they'd come to disaster. How she and her friends had fought and struggled for months to avert it and most of them didn't even know.  
She smiled gently. It had been worth it.

She watched a group of young woman wander under her window, clothed in their best and giggling shyly as they passed a Flaming Fist patrol, the men's armour shining in the sunlight. Angelo had been ordered arrested as soon as Eltan had recovered, readily confessing everything once he realised he had been discovered and laying all the blame squarely on Sarevok. Perhaps Angelo thought his cooperation would save him; he was wrong.

He was due to be hanged a few days from now, along with others who had been accomplices in the plot. But she would be well away from the city by then and Fritha would not have attended had she even been there, despite words to the contrary she had screamed at him in their last meeting. It was one thing to kill your enemy in the heat of passion, but it was entirely another to stand and watch him die. She shivered slightly, turning from the window to push the flask she'd been holding into her pack and give her room a final glance over to be sure she had everything.

'Are you ready to leave?' asked Jaheira as she walked in with Imoen at her heels, glancing about to check on the young woman's progress and Fritha nodded.  
'I don't know why we're in such a hurry,' Imoen whined, easily ignoring the scowl she was getting from Jaheira. 'In case you haven't noticed, there's a party going on outside.'  
'I'm sorry, Imoen,' Fritha sighed, avoiding her friend's eyes, 'I know most people aren't aware of our part in all this yet, but some are and they're going to have questions, ones that I'm not quite ready to answer.'  
Imoen shrugged.  
'Ah, it's all right, I understand… still,' she continued brightly, as she turned to leave, 'there's nothing stopping us having our own party, once we're outside the city, right?'  
Jaheira rolled her eyes, her lips twitching, before turning to follow the irrepressible girl out.

Fritha smiled as she watched them go, then shouldered her pack and with one last look to the window, she left too, closing the door behind her.


End file.
